


You're a wizard, Harris

by Stephenopolos



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bodyswap, Crossover, Dimension Travel, Gen, Halloween
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 05:48:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28969344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stephenopolos/pseuds/Stephenopolos
Summary: YAHF reversed, Xander goes from halloween to waking up in the cupboard under the stairs. Increasingly AU the longer he stays on that side.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 24





	1. The Cupboard Under the Stairs

"Up! Get up! Now!"

Xander woke to something loud pounding on the door and groggily sat up, blinking the sleep from his eyes.

"Up!" came the shrill screech of what he thought must be a banshee, before he heard footsteps walking and then the sound of a frying pan being put on the stove. He grumbled and pushed the blanket away sitting up only to bang his head on the stairs.

He winced and looked up, what was he doing in a small crawlspace underneath a staircase? He wondered. One moment he'd been leading a pack of children on the annual great quest for candy, and the next he was waking up here.

Carefully he felt around the room, before his hands hit a string hanging down in front of him. He gave it a tug hoping it was for an overhead light. Success! His spartan accommodations were revealed, beyond just the sliver of light that filtered in around the edge of the door.

Xander looked around in disgust. It was a depressingly small room; if what appeared to be a cupboard under the stairs could be called a room. The lady with the shrill voice was back at the door again.

"Are you up yet?" she demanded.

"Give me a moment," he called breathing heavily.

He doubled over as a sudden pain flared through his skull and he ran his fingers over his forehead instinctively to massage the pressure away. He ran his fingers through his hair and across his forehead, freezing in shock as he felt a jagged line.

"Well, get a move on, I want you to look after the bacon. And don't you dare let it burn, I want everything perfect on Duddey's birthday."

That wasn't supposed to be there! His costume last night had a scar like that; but it was just makeup! The pain behind the scar kept building, until it felt like something released as the never quite healed scar burst open and he felt something wet drip down.

Xander groaned involuntarily.

"What did you say?" Petunia snapped through the door.

"Nothing, nothing..." All the while Xander wondered, _Duddey? What sorry excuse for a parent name's someone Duddey?_ A memory hit him of a fat spoiled brat of a kid, and he winced. The crazy shop owner, Evan... no, Ethan? That was it; Ethan had convinced him to go as a wand waving wizard. The guy had managed to talk him into accepting a vastly discounted costume of, a glasses wearing wizard, with a scarred forehead, he'd even given him a small character sheet with a basic background. He'd muttered something about it being a mockup costume for an author friend.

What was the character's name again? Harvy? Hammy? Harry! The pain in his forehead was starting to go away making it easier to think. He looked around the room again, and grabbed the blanket to wipe the ichor off his face and hands. But that character was older, he felt like he was in a body of about age nine or ten. Not fifteen years old.

He looked down, these were clearly not his hands. He forced himself to calm down and examine the room around him. He started looking for clothes, scowling in disapproval at the slightly oversized pair of pants and shirt. He found a pair of socks under the bed and after flinging a spider off one of them, put them on.

Opening the door to the cupboard he froze as he caught the reflection in the mirror, thin face, knobby knees, black hair, and bright green eyes. The severity of the situation hit him like a train wreck. Something hell mouthy had happened, and now he wasn't even in his own body anymore. His eyes darted to his forehead and the vaguely lightning bolt shaped scar that had freshly scabbed over.

A large fat man, Xander labeled as Vernon, entered the kitchen as he was turning over the bacon.

"Comb your hair!" he barked, by way of a morning greeting, and Xander got the impression that this was a fairly regular occurrence.

He'd moved onto the eggs by the time Petunia reappeared in the kitchen behind what Xander immediately dubbed as a land-whale. Dudley looked alarmingly like his father, Vernon; he had a large pink face, not much neck, small, watery blue eyes, and thick blond hair that lay smoothly on his thick, fat head. Altogether, 'Dudley' gave Xander the distinct impression of an overly large pig that someone had stuck a wig on.

"Thirty-six," he said, looking up at his mother and father. "That's two less than last year."

"Darling, you haven't counted Auntie Marge's present, see, it's here under this big one from Mommy and Daddy."

"All right, thirty-seven then," said Dudley, going red in the face.

Xander, who could see a huge tantrum coming, was forcing himself not to pay any attention to what was obviously a spoiled brat. He had the urge to reach over and smack the kid, tell him he was a spoiled fat tub of lard who didn't appreciate the things he had in life.

Petunia obviously scented danger, too, because she said quickly, "And we'll buy you another two presents while we're out today. How's that, Popkin? Two more presents. Is that alright?"

The entertainment value, and his own instinctive self-preservation kept Xander's mouth firmly closed. Xander hoped this was all temporary and that he'd wake up back in his own body in Sunnydale, but for the sake of not ruining it for the kid whose body he was currently in, he would hold his peace. At least for now, if he was still here tomorrow him and Mrs. Dursley would be having words about the accommodations.

Xander looked up at Dudley as the other boy's face scrunched up in concentration. All that thinking must be such hard work, Xander snarked in his head, having to fight the sudden urge to smirk.

"So, I'll have thirty... thirty..." the land-whale flailed at the number.

"Thirty-nine, sweetums," Mrs. Dursley provided.

"Oh." Dudley sat down heavily and grabbed the nearest parcel. "All right then."

Uncle Vernon chuckled. "Little tyke wants his money's worth, just like his father. 'Atta boy, Dudley!" He ruffled Dudley's hair.

Xander heard the phone ring, but, was too busy watching as Dudley continued to make a mess on the floor, further lowering Xander's opinion of the boy with each present.

"Rotten news, Vernon," Petunia said as she re-entered the room. "That was Mrs. Figg; she's broken her leg and can't take him." She jerked her head in Xander's direction.

Dudley froze, mid rip, the wrapping paper in his hand falling to the ground. Xander just watched on unsure how to take the announcement. Petunia glared in his direction as though he had somehow planned this sudden change of events in her otherwise perfectly orchestrated life

"We could phone Marge," Uncle Vernon suggested.

"Don't be silly, Vernon, she hates the boy." Petunia's tone conveyed the absurdity of the idea.

The name Mrs. Figg made him think of cabbage and cats for some reason. Xander pushed the topic to the back of his mind, doing his best to only pay enough attention for important details. He was drawn back to the conversation when Dudley began to cry, loudly, and in Xander's opinion obviously faked.

"I don't... want... him t-t-o come!" Xander watched in fascination as the boy yelled his protest in between huge pretend sobs. "He's going to ruin everything just like he always does." The land whale shot him a grin from beneath his mother's arms.

The tantrum was interrupted though by the sudden ring of the doorbell, and Dudley dashed off to answer the door as his mother paled and frantically exclaimed, "Dear lord, they're here." A moment later and Dudley walked back into the room pulling another boy and followed by his mother.

Half an hour later and Xander, who was slightly dreading this visit to the zoo, considering his last visit had saddled him with a head companion that had almost hurt his girls, was sitting in the back of the Dursley's car and pondering the weird cryptic warning Vernon had given.

"I'm warning you," Vernon had said his face inches from Xander's, "I'm warning you now, boy — any funny business, anything at all — and you'll be in that cupboard from now until Christmas."

Xander just nodded in acceptance for the moment and resolved to have that talk about their treatment that much sooner; his green eyes glinting in a manner almost reminiscent of the green glow from the hyena.

The car ride was mostly silent though Vernon complained about the traffic and the places they passed, while Petunia's scathing commentary on the state of the neighborhood had ended a few short minutes after leaving Little Whinging.

Xander was wondering just what was wrong with this family, it was several minutes into the trip, as Vernon's complaints while fairly normal in most respects always seemed to find their way back towards the original owner of Xander's current body; at the moment he was going on about motorcycles: "…roaring along like maniacs, the young hoodlums," he said, as a motorcycle overtook them. "Boy, if I ever catch you even thinking about riding one of those blasted things..." Xander ignored the rest of the admonishment.

And a memory of a dream hit Xander like a sack of bricks, he was staring up at the sky while the sound and feel of a motorcycle lulled him. He kept his mouth firmly shut.

Xander silently observed as Vernon was forced to buy him a shaved ice with strawbery syrup from the icee truck, because the lady in the van had asked what he wanted, before Mrs. Dursley could shepherd them away. He could see there was something off about how the two adults treated Dudley and his host but he put it off as they walked through the zoo.

Walking through the lion exhibit, he froze mid bite as the hair on the back of his neck stood, slowly he turned around to see the lioness sitting on the other side of the glass.

He got the distinct impression that it was looking directly at him, and only him. Slowly the lioness lowered her head keeping her eyes centered on him. He slowly turned and walked back towards the Dursleys, every so often he'd turn to look back, and see the lioness was still watching him.

Spooked from the eerie behavior of the lioness, Xander didn't notice that they'd walked right into the observation point for the hyena enclosure. Hearing the laughter of the animals he froze. Feeling his legs and arms trembling, he looked into the enclosure to see the hyenas too had frozen and were now looking at him. Only this time he felt like they were deferring to his presence.

"No..." he muttered. Feeling light headed, he pushed through the people to the next intersection and a bench to wait for the Dursleys. His shaved ice was more of a liquid with little clumps of ice floating about now, and the cold of the cup made his hand numb. Xander stared ahead and mechanically sipped the melted liquid from the cup.

By the time he saw the Dursleys it was time for lunch, where Vernon bought the cheapest item on the menu for Xander, and Dudley threw an embarrassing tantrum when his dessert wasn't big enough. Of course, the remainder of Dudley's first dessert was pushed into Xander's hands, mainly because Vernon didn't believe in wasting, something he'd expounded upon at the time.

After lunch the Dursleys decided Xander would stick a little closer to them, Vernon muttering about the 'boy being trouble' and Dudley wanted to see the reptile house before they left. The inside was dimly lit and slightly damp with a clammy feeling, and all along the walls there were windows showing snakes and lizards of all sorts slithering over bits of wood and stone.

Xander shivered slightly, the place seriously wigged him out.

"Make it move," Dudley whined, drawing Xander's attention to the largest snake in the building. Vernon tapped on the glass, and Xander wondered for a moment if the large man's meaty knuckle would break the glass. But the snake didn't budge and the glass held firm.

Dudley complained about the snake being boring before shuffling off.

Xander slowly approached the exhibit holding the large snake, and heard the snake muttering, "Stupid two-leg, oh for a nice juicy rat."

Xander stepped back in shock. "You speak?"

"Some," the snake muttered in agreement.

"You're not a demon, are you?" Xander asked stupidly.

The snake looked directly at him, as if to imply contempt for even thinking the thought. "Right, just checking," Xander said hastily.

And suddenly he was knocked aside as Dudley's friend called them over with a shout. Xander rolled in reflex to the shove coming up a short distance from the cage. What happened next made him blink—Dudley was inside the cage and the snake was coiling around him, and commenting how it wasn't quite the juicy rat he wanted before sighing and continuing that he'd settle for scaring the boy and then let the servant that brought him food remove the pest from his cage.

Xander just huddled up against the far wall hyperventilating in response to all the strangeness throughout the day, and from the reactions of the Dursley family, this sort of thing was halfway expected even if it was feared, so it wasn't him but rather the person he'd replaced.

Since no one could explain just how the boy had gotten into the cage, and no harm had been done between boy and snake, the Dursley's couldn't do anything but yell for great lengths and with increasing volume about the potential safety hazard poor Dudley had been exposed to.

For the zoo though, it was Dudley's name that went on the list as a safety hazard. For them, the boy had somehow managed to slip past a locked door into a secure area for zoo employees only and then managed to get past a second secure lock into one of their more dangerous specimen in the snake exhibit.

Xander fought back a smirk as the Zoo employee at the snake exhibit had carefully removed Dudley from the snake's coils.

The ride home was made in complete silence, the only break in the tension when they dropped Dudley's friend off. As soon as they entered the door Vernon rounded on him, his face purple and shaking. "Cupboard... Now... No food."

Xander raised an eyebrow and with his own monosyllabic response, said, "No."

Vernon swung at him and Xander dodged raising his hands in a warding off gesture of defense as a golden shield formed in the air in front of him. He blinked as Vernon's fist grazed the field, the man stumbled back and yelped in shock as he held his arm his fingers now numb and unmoving.

"It's time we had a discussion Vermin," Xander intentionally mispronounced Vernon's name. "Living room, I think." Petunia's face was white as she nodded and guided Vernon into the living room.

Dudley, however, didn't like the way this was going. It was his birthday and in his mind the freak had ruined it. He shook his head clear of the shock seeing, the freak disobeyed his dad, and attempted to sneak around the shield as they walked into the living room. Only the barest hint of a plan in his desire to whack Harry a good one for ruining his birthday.

Unfortunately for Dudley, he didn't appear to know the meaning of the word sneak. One might even say, he was physically incapable of it, his heavy breathing, and the weight of his feet on the floorboards announced his presence behind Xander just in time for the other boy to dodge the attempt.

Dudley stumbled barreling past him into the couch opposite. Petunia squealed, "Duddy! What did you do to him you little freak!" she demanded.

Xander shrugged, "You're all complete and total idiots, and it'd be a service to humanity if your genes didn't get passed on. Vernon, Petunia, I think it's time we had a chat about my living arrangements."


	2. Letters From No One

The result of the day's events, left Xander confused, disturbed and probably more than a little scared. He was unnerved at how the universe seemingly broke when the Dursley's behavior finally reached a level that shattered his emotional control; while his parents hadn't been the best, they certainly hadn't made him live in a cupboard under the stairs.

He rolled over and looked around at the room, wrinkling his nose. It was better than the tiny little cupboard he'd woken up in that morning, the large bed seemed comfortable enough. But, it wasn't his room, not really, it wasn't the room of Xander Harris, Sunnydale High's slacker and class clown. He paused for a moment and considered going back out and taking over Dudley's second bedroom, clearing the smaller bedroom would give him something to do. But, after a few moments, he decided that he didn't want to hear the heavier child whine.

Eventually, Xander decided that regardless of the decorations, the bedroom was better than the cupboard, it was practically palatial, compared to the cupboard. The walls where covered with a burgundy floral-patterned wallpaper and there was a matching thick burgundy throw rug on the floor next to the bed. He fell asleep staring at the ceiling.

The next morning after the excitement and general shock over having magic had worn off, Xander started going over everything he'd learned in the past year about magic, including writing it all down using some scratch paper from the small roll top desk in the corner of the room.

Willow's cheat sheet was the first thing he tried to copy down from memory; he remembered trying them for a week or so, after Willow badgered him into it, before giving it up.

At the time he wasn't willing to sink the work into it, and given his general slacker attitude he figured he'd never be a Luke Skywalker. But, before he had given up, the closest he'd managed was rolling the pencil off the desk; though, he wasn't sure if that was him or just the angle of the desk.

Xander snorted at the memory, and looked back down at his notes only to blink in shock.

"What the hellmouth?" he exclaimed, one of the pencils he'd grabbed out of the holder dropped from its slow rotation above the paper.

His thoughts were interrupted by Vernon pounding on the door. The Dursley male yelled, "Boy you will come out of that room and go to your cupboard!" He must have magicked the door closed the previous night, or the adults had been too shocked to try anything while he'd been asleep.

Xander ignored the pounding on the door, which would become a regular occurrence for the days following his decision to take a proactive approach in improving his lot in this life. He did try to levitate the pencil again, but no matter what he tried it refused to budge.

By the third day, the confrontation with his newly appointed bedroom door had escalated to Vernon imitating a battering ram. The heavy impact of the older man's meaty shoulder upon the door saw the entire house shake and cracks form around the door frame.

"Of course, it can't be simple," he groaned to himself as he looked up from the paper he'd snagged early that morning. His groan was from the date on the paper, which read, June 28th, 1991. Xander set the paper aside with an annoyed expression and walked over to the door. He calmly opened it and stepped aside as Vernon barreled into the room hit his head on the opposite wall, falling to the floor in surprise.

"If you wanted my attention, all you had to do was knock and ask politely," Xander said standing at Vernon's side as the larger man wobbled and slumped to the ground.

After a few moments of trying to get Vernon's attention, Xander hooked Vernon's arm over his shoulder and walked the dazed man out of the room.

He had a blessed two whole days of silence after that, before Vernon worked up the nerve to try again.

—Xander Potter—

It was the first week of July, and the end of his first week with the Dursley's. After an hour of ignoring the shouted threats and pounding, Xander looked up from the small desk when the thud of Vernon's meaty fist slamming against the door was followed, by a pained shout, and a softer thud of the big man sitting down heavily in the hallway.

All along the wall there were tiny stress cracks from Vernon's battering. Xander calmly opened the door to find the man lying on the floor cradling his bruised and rapidly purpling fists. Xander reached down to examine his hands, feeling some worry about his host, pausing only for a moment in surprise when there was a sharp cracking noise as Vernon's fist healed and the bruises started to fade.

After that, the Dursley's tactics shifted from extraction to confinement. Not that Vernon was trying very hard anymore, or that it did them any good; as Xander ignored their efforts as he explored the neighborhood and his new surroundings.

The next morning Xander snorted as he caught a few lines here and there as the older Dursley's argued.

"Right then, if he wants the room, he can have it," Vernon growled in the kitchen, on the table before him was an electric drill, and a door latch kit from the local hardware store.

"What about Marge, darling?" Petunia asked.

"Dudley will just have to clean up the second bedroom," Vernon grumbled.

Xander ignored the sound of the drill until a few minutes later after he heard the car pulling out of the drive, and he tried the door. Frowned he placed a hand where the door frame and door met and pulled on the handle again with a primal growl.

There was a sharp, pinging noise, and the door flew open the latch dropping to the ground, one of the screws embedded into the wall opposite him.

Xander grabbed a bucket of paint, some sawdust and the wood glue from the garage and repaired the screw holes in the door.

Vernon reattached the latch several more times, only for Xander to make use of the window and a conveniently placed wooden lattice under the window to acquire the tools from the garage to remove it, and unlock and repair the door again.

The day after that, Xander tried magic laced suggestions on them at breakfast, feeling like he was trying to pull off a Jedi mind trick. It failed to do anything, and left them looking at him oddly.

—Xander Potter—

By the middle of the third week his actions hadn't gone unnoticed, and the conflict settled into an uncomfortable cold war. Petunia was arguing for putting 'the boy' back into the cupboard when Xander heard Vernon's booming voice.

"Oh, shut yer gob Petunia," Vernon growled. "We tried it your way. The boy spent almost ten years in a cupboard. Said we'd beat the freak out of him..." Vernon's rant trailed off at that point and curious as to what he meant Xander strained to listen, catching only a snatch of, "...cupboard for a bedroom..." and "...not normal..." but couldn't pick up the rest of what he said.

After Vernon's rant, all the Dursleys were walking on eggshells around him. Xander watched them with a guarded expression, if his attention wavered for a moment the situation could end up worse than how it started. Likewise, Dudley, at his mother's urging, was trying to stalk Xander's every move, looking for any opening to put his cousin back in the comfortable box he'd been confined to for the majority of Dudley's existence thus far.

—Xander Potter—

The tension had continued to build by the fourth week of his stay, and the fuse on his temper was getting short. So far, he'd seen no evidence in the paper or at night of the darker side of his former life in Sunnydale. There had even been a few nights when he'd spent too long at the local library, much to his chagrin, researching the local mythology.

The first time he'd been locked out, he had panicked until he felt his magic flare and the lock click open for him to slip inside, after that unlocking the door seemed to slowly get easier.

The hostile atmosphere with the Dursley's was fraying his nerves, he was twitching at every shadow and the slightest sound. While he could just continue to rely on the oddly specific yet uncontrolled bursts of accidental magic to fend them off, doing so was exhausting and made him want to drink a couple 2 litre bottles of Dudley's favorite high sugar soda, and gorge himself on the various snack foods.

After a particularly tense confrontation with the younger Dursley, he decided to attempt one of the more basic rituals he remembered and call upon Apollo to bless the house, and hopefully get a little peace. He had double checked the prayer with a book from the local library on roman mythology, the librarian had looked at him skeptically when he'd asked for the book. The generic form of the ritual had been copied from the book and then carefully modified based on his memories. A lot of this he was making up, half remembered from Giles' books.

Xander drew a line with the table salt he'd nicked from the kitchen pantry, and muttered a small prayer to Mercury thanking him for the easy procurement. When he reached the end he almost dropped the container in shock when the salt shifted and hardened into a circle of solid white salt crystal.

Xander stepped over the circle of salt crystal and everything went quiet. The sounds of the house and street outside were muffled, and he had a feeling that it was the same way on the other side of the circle for what went on within.

Carefully he lit the candles and began his prayer. Within moments a warm breeze stirred around him carrying the quiet strumming of a guitar and laughter. On the altar before him he placed a small container of sunflower seeds he'd picked up from the garden center Petunia frequented and a small slice of pound cake and a glass of lemonade. Maybe not a traditional offering to the sun, but it was offered to the sun god in summer.

The guitar music grew louder as he finished the prayer, he blinked as the offering vanished leaving the container behind. A moment later an intense pressure filled the space he was sitting in and the breeze died away, the music stopping but the feeling of sun on his skin kept getting stronger, almost to the point it was unbearable, any longer and he felt as though he'd be a giant walking sunburn. Then the circle dissolved and the intense heat faded away with a blast of warm air that flooded the room and blew the bedroom door open as it went throughout the house touching every room before swirling around the yard and dissipating.

Downstairs, Petunia placed breakfast on the table and called everyone down, not even noticing she'd called all of them including yelling for Xander even if she called for him by the name of Harry instead.

She informed him that she was taking Dudley into London to pick up his school uniform and she'd spoken with Mrs. Figg down the street if he'd like to stay there.

Shrugging Xander went along with the plan. It turned out the day he'd arrived, she'd broken her leg tripping over one of her cats, and given the frosty glares he kept catching her give them, it was obvious the she was no longer feeling quite as charitable towards them.

He felt awkward trying to interact with the elderly lady, and the cats were giving him the wiggins, but she let him watch TV, and while the chocolate cake tasted stale he wasn't one to turn down sweets. He had a brief moment of insalubrity while eating the cake, as he pined after his beloved Twinkies.

Vernon still didn't like him, but he was resigned to the situation. Dudley had given up, and spent most of his time with his little gang of delinquents harassing easier marks. While Petunia still gave him the occasional evil eye and tried to order him around.

—Xander Potter—

By the time Xander yawned and rolled out of bed on the fifth week, he had just about come to terms with the situation. While he had hope that his friends would find him and switch him back, he was settling in for a prolonged campaign. The local newspaper didn't inspire confidence, proclaiming the year to be 1991, and he was still here stuck in the body of an eleven year old with weird magic abilities. Of course, what he didn't know about the situation would be revealed shortly.

On this particular morning, Xander was greeted by a horrible smell as he entered the kitchen. It seemed to be coming from a large metal tub in the sink.

"What's that?" he asked, eyeing the tub which was full of what looked like rags floating in dirty gray water.

Petunia frowned as though trying to remember something before she spoke, "I'm dying some of Dudley's old things gray. But I may have to give it up for a loss and just get you a new uniform."

The Dursley males entered the room and wrinkled their noses at the smell. Vernon opened his newspaper while Dudley reached with a fork to pull some food onto his plate from the serving dish in the center of the table.

A few minutes into breakfast, they heard the click of the mail slot and flop of letters onto the doormat.

"Harry, be a dear and get the mail, would you?" Petunia asked absentmindedly before returning to her quiet conversation about the Lady next door.

Xander grumbled a bit before deciding it wasn't worth it to argue and went to get the mail.

Four things were lying on the doormat: a postcard from Vernon's sister Marge, who was apparently vacationing somewhere named the Isle of Wight, a brown envelope that looked very much like a bill, something from Dudley's new school and – a letter addressed to Harry.

Xander frowned, the letter itself wasn't all that odd aside from being addressed to an apparent ten going on eleven-year-old. What made it stand out to him was the clearly written green ink on the front:

Mr. H Potter  
The guest bedroom at the end of the hallway.  
4 Privet Drive  
Little Whinging, Surrey

He scowled at the precision of the letter and tucked the odd envelope under his waistband in the back and then slipping his shirt over it.

Xander walked back into the kitchen and placed the mail on the table next to Mr. Dursley before retaking his seat. Methodically chewing through the rest of his breakfast.

"Marge's ill," Vernon informed Petunia as he examined the mail, snorting at the bill.

Xander excused himself retreating back up the stairs to his room to open the envelope.

He stared incredulously at the emerald green ink on the yellowing parchment. What the dickens was Hogwarts, it sounded like some sort of disease, and who was Albus Dumbledore and why did he need so many titles behind his name.

He blinked at the greeting: Dear Mr. Potter... pleased to inform... witchcraft... wizardry.

Was he interested? Free training? All the supernatural powers and abilities in the world at his fingertips just for attending a school run by an oddly named guy with too many titles? Damn straight he was interested!

Await his owl no later than July 31? How the devil was he supposed to get an owl?

Xander paused for a moment and looked back through the letter. Minerva, goddess of wisdom, and the owl, a creature generally associated with having wisdom.

Xander stopped and set the letter down, wondering if Apollo dropped her a line after answering the ritual.


	3. The Keeper of the Keys

Xander stared at the green ink on the mostly innocent, if a bit old fashioned looking envelope. It was addressed to Harry, not Xander. He tapped his chin thoughtfully. Was that supposed to be a hint from Apollo or Minerva?

He sighed and picked the letter up again, recognizing the parchment it was written on by the feel, as some of the older books in the library back home had used parchment. "Await my owl," he muttered, falling back onto the bed, an action he'd repeated so many times he'd left a wrinkled outline.

The letter kept bugging him, enough that he was surprised he'd gotten any sleep the previous night. He paused as a second sheet of paper slipped out from behind the first. Written thereon was a list of books, equipment, and uniform for the year. He skimmed through it and paused over the word wand, wondering why it felt familiar, until he recalled his Halloween costume. He'd gone as a wizard, a wand waving wizard.

That was what he'd been missing, a wand, it hadn't quite connected in his head until just that moment, but his Halloween costume had been a wizard of the wand waving variety.

—Xander Potter—

Three days, he'd spent staring at the letter, contemplating the future, trying to decide how exactly he was supposed to reply to the school without an Owl. Xander had considered trying the Apollo ritual a few times over the past day or two, and early the third morning he had; but all he'd gotten out of the ritual was a sense of faint amusement and a slight tan.

A short time later, Xander discovered that the ritual had done the opposite of the usual for magic workings and instead of making him tired had made him hyper. He was still wide awake at the end of the day and with an itch in his fingers to pick up a guitar and start strumming; regardless of if he knew how to carry a tune on the thing or not.

So, he was awake at the end of the day when someone knocked on the Dursley's front door—hard enough that the open bedroom window rattled and dropped closed.

Through the floor he heard a booming voice say, "Sorry 'bout tha', don't know me own strength, a' times."

A short time later Xander heard Vernon hollering, "What the devil is the meaning of this!"

Xander was on the top step of the staircase in no time, observing the scene from the higher vantage point. Vernon was standing at the front door in nightcap and pajamas. The door itself was dented, and the bolt was splintered out from the door.

"Only meant ta knock," a giant of a man, in a thick overcoat said sheepishly.

"By all the..." Vernon lost his words for a moment before sputtering out, "by God, man, have you never heard of a doorbell?" Vernon pointed at the small button to the side of the door.

The half-giant glanced at the button with a dubious expression. "Ah... right..."

Vernon shook his head in disgust; an action mirrored by Xander at the top of the stairs, only Xander's head shake was more because he was amused than disgusted. Of course, if it had been his front door he might have been more disgusted than amused.

Vernon made a funny rasping noise as Petunia appeared at the top of the steps. The giant ignoring Petunia and Vernon as he pushed his way inside closed the door with more care than he showed opening it, judiciously flicking his umbrella at it the latch area to 'repair' the damage.

"You're one of them!" Petunia hissed.

Vernon gave a resigned sigh and was about to ask what the man wanted when Dudley brushed past Harry and stupidly asked, "Where's the cannon?"

"Ah, right..." the man muttered into his shaggy beard, his attention drawn to the stairs. "An' there's Harry," he said, spotting Xander who made his way past the Dursleys.

Behind him the Dursley's appeared to have frozen in place for a moment, his presence seemed to have engaged the 'ignore anything strange' portion of his ritual blessing for family peace.

Xander didn't even have a chance to be paranoid as the giant ignored the expression forming on his face and continued, "Las' time I saw you, you was jus a lit'le thing," the giant gestured with his hands. "Yeh've got yer mum's eyes. Anyway — Harry, I know it's not fer a few more days or so, but I got somat fer yah here — might o' sat on em at some point, but they should be fine."

"A very happy early birthday to yeh," from an inside pocket in his black overcoat, he pulled a slightly dented and battered white box with blue and red print on the side and a picture of a yellowed snack cake. "Tha's not..." the giant said looking at the box with a confounded expression.

Xander didn't care as he pounced on the box. "The food of the god's!" he mumbled around a mouthful of Twinkie while the giant and the Dursley's stared disturbed at the boy's behavior.

Remembering himself, Xander looked up at the giant, and said, "Thanks, who're you?"

"Where are my manners?" the giant said absently, "Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of keys and grounds at Hogwarts."

Xander carefully set the box down on an end table in the hallway and allowed his hand to be seized by Hagrid, an action he almost instantly regretted as it felt as though the giant would shake his arm off.

"How 'bout some tea then," Hagrid said, releasing Harry's arm, and rubbing his hands together. "Mind, I'd not say no ter summat stronger if yeh've got it."

Xander led the way out of the entry hall and into the kitchen.

"Er, Harry, this 's a muggle kitchen.. it's jus.. well I'm not entirely familiar with all the muggle things in there. Would ya mind?" Hagrid asked, and began taking all sorts of things out of the pockets of his coat: a copper kettle, a squashy package of sausages, a poker which he sheepishly pushed back into another pocket, a teapot, several chipped mugs, and a bottle of some amber liquid that he took a swig from.

"So," Xander said as he put the kettle on the stove and grabbed a cast iron skillet to brown the sausages in. "Good thing you showed up, I was wondering if anyone'd realize, awaiting my owl is no good; considering I don't have one."

Hagrid, gave him a startled look, before clapping a hand to his forehead with a mighty smacking sound, and from yet another pocket inside his overcoat he pulled an owl — a real, live, rather ruffled-looking owl — a long quill, and a roll of parchment. "Should'a realized, what with yeh livin with the muggles, sorry about that."

—Xander Potter—

It took some doing but a few hours after Hagrid arrived Xander finally gotten most of his backstory out of the giant man.

Evil wizard attempts to kill prophesied hero and gets blasted by ancient protection. All that was left was finding out he had a bit of the evil wizard stuck to his forehead or something. Xander chuckled darkly at the thought and then subconsciously his hand went to the thinning scar on his brow.

Narrowing his eyes, he turned to look at the green eyes staring back at him from the reflection in the hallway mirror. His eyes went to the scar slowly fading away and he thought back to the pain on his first day back in the cupboard under the stairs. Hagrid had kipped out on the sofa in the parlor and the Dursley's had headed back up to bed a long time ago.

He sighed and turned away to head back up the stairs.

* * *

**Interlude - You're a vampire hunter, Potter - 1**

* * *

Harry whirled around pointing his wand at the moving figures wandering the night. He swore as he noticed the change in location. but was confused as the customary feeling of a portkey or side-along apparition was absent.

One of the nearby monsters rushed him and he dodged to the side and yelled, "Stupify!"

As the three-foot-high horned imp passed him, the bolt of red spell light hit the imp which fell to the ground knocked out.

"Xander, it's me Willow!" a girl yelled, running up to him.

"Who?" Harry asked, looking at the red-haired teen who was gesturing with her hands in front of her animatedly.

"Xander, this isn't the time for jokes," Willow said seriously.

"Explain, exactly what in the name of Merlin is the big idea around here," Harry said, holding his wand tightly.

"You don't know me?" Willow asked in a wavering voice, her forehead wrinkling in confusion.

"Miss," Harry looked at her again, the lack of recognition in his eyes freezing her to the spot, "the streets aren't safe tonight." He looked around. "Where's the bloody aurors?" he muttered under his breath. "You should hide in a nearby house Willow." He said turning to walk towards a nearby porch.

"Xander, wait!" Willow said trying to move in front of Harry only to pass right through him.

Harry spun around and looked at her. "Dammit, I hate walking through ghosts," he said shivering. "And how the bloody..." he trailed off before finding his voice again. "You look more solid than the usual ghost I see."

Harry pointed his wand at the ghost and prepared to cast one of the few spells he knew that could affect the incorporeal creatures.

"Xander Wait! I'm on your side, I swear!" Willow fast talked. "Something crazy is going on, I was dressed as a ghost for Halloween, a-and now I am a ghost," Willow said weakly, the situation starting to get to her. "And, you were originally supposed to be a—a soldier, but changed your mind and now I guess you're a wizard or something."

Harry kept his wand up, he didn't survive a year of school with Alastor Moody even if it was the fake one without realizing the importance of the grizzled auror's catch phrase, 'Constant Vigilance,' and he wasn't about to forget it now.

"Well? Say something," Willow demanded.

"Shush, I'm thinking," Harry said, just then a growling thing ambled towards them and Harry raised his wand.

"No! No spells," Willow shouted moving into his line of sight. "There's still a little kid in there."

"So, they've been affected by a spell?" Harry asked. "shove over and let me try and cancel the spell."

Willow looked at him searchingly, "promise?"

"I promise, the only spell I'm going to use is a cancelling one," Harry said reading his wand as she stepped moved away.

"Finite incantatem," he said and the girl stumbled a bit, looking confused before the growl reasserted itself. He tried again pushing a bit more power into the spell, this time the effect was more permanent as the girl separated from the costume and her human appearance was restored.

Willow stared at him for a moment before rushing to the girl who was curled up on the sidewalk, rocking back and forth. Harry looked over at the imp he'd knocked out earlier and cast again turning the imp into a seven-year-old boy.

After they managed to calm the girl down, Willow yelled, "Buffy!" having spotted her friend walking down the street with a confused expression.

'Buffy' looked at her, confused and then past them as another two monsters walked up the street towards them, as she caught sight of the deformed faces she fainted. Harry cast another three finites, one for Buffy and two for the monsters.

Buffy's wig fell off immediately, but Harry had to cast the spell a second time for one of the monsters.

The two costumed kids joined their growing party and Harry pointed his wand at Buffy who was still lying on the grass knocked out from fainting. "Mobilicorpus," he intoned and turned to Willow. "Let's go get your body, we can't simply leave it lying there on a night like this."

Willow nodded in agreement. "It was down the street over there."

When they finally reached the house, they'd manage to gather the majority of the group of children and end the spell on them.

"Lay back down in your body so I can get you and your body with the spell at the same time," Harry said, and then quickly cast the spell on her when she'd done so, a moment later she started breathing again. Harry used a few diagnostic spell's he'd learned from his frequent visits to the hospital wing during his time at Hogwarts to make sure they were both ok while Willow explained what was going on to Buffy.

"Not to be rude or anything, but," Buffy said steadying herself, "could we have Xander back now?"

Harry snorted. "I'd prefer to be back with my own body as well," he said, pointing his wand back towards himself. Only this time when he cast the spell he stumbled and his vision seemed to swirl with thousands of colors before snapping back into focus. "What the hell?"

"Xander?" Willow asked hopefully.

"Not exactly," Harry muttered.


	4. You're a wizard, Harris

Breakfast was an odd affair, interrupted by the noise of an owl scratching at the kitchen window.

"Let the bird in would you, Harry?" Hagrid said groggily.

Xander opened the window, amazed that the small owl was clutching a thickly rolled paper tightly by the string holding it closed, which it promptly dropped on the counter with an exasperated sound of relief before flying straight to Hagrid's coat draped over the back of one of the kitchen chairs.

"Hagrid," Xander asked. "Is it normal for an owl to attack your coat?"

Hagrid blearily stumbled into the kitchen and dug out five little bronze coins placing them in a pouch tied to the owl's leg. Explaining about the owl and the paper as he went.

Xander eyed the coins nervously and wondered aloud how he would afford his school supplies, realizing that magic or not even wizarding school cost something.

"Well, ya didn't think yer parents left you with nothing, now did ya?" The man replied.

Xander eyed the half giant, "I suppose not."

"First stop o' the day is Gringotts, Wizarding Bank," Hagrid said, dishing himself some of the food Xander had laid out.

"Run by Goblins," Hagrid said in between bites.

"Goblins?" Xander dropped his fork. Images of every entry Giles' library had on goblanus dokkaebi brought to the forefront of his mind.

"Yeah, well used to be, anyway. The dwarves and gnomes did a hostile takeo'er at the end o' the last year o' the war." Hagrid said. "The dwarves locked the place down the day you-know-who was defeated. Still safest place in the world to keep valuables — cept maybe Hogwarts, gotta stop there today anyway."

Xander nodded, vowing, as much as he enjoyed slacking, or at least the appearance thereof, to research the subject later.

"Hagrid how'd you get here last night?" Xander asked.

"Flew," Hagrid replied.

Xander shrugged, there was that dream about flying a while back.

"So, why would it be mad to try and rob Gringotts?" Xander asked.

"Spells, enchantments and such. The goblins used dragons to guard the high security vaults," Hagrid replied. Xander felt the instinctive need to lean back in his chair away from the half-giant at the tone of longing in his voice when he spoke of the dragons but the seat left him nowhere to go. "The gnomes and dwarves may have removed most of the dragons, but in spite of that they've only increased the security. Even if anyone did manage their way into a vault to get their hands on somethin' they'd still have to find and fight their way back out."

Xander sat and thought about this for a moment while Hagrid read his paper and they both finished off breakfast.

"Ministry o' Magic messin' things up as usual," Hagrid muttered, putting away his paper.

Xander quirked his head, still getting used to the British terminology for governmental departments. He shrugged on a jacket and asked, "There's a ministry of magic?"

At Hagrid's look, Xander muttered, "Of course there's a ministry of magic."

Hagrid pushed himself up with a heavy groan, "We'd best be off to get yer supplies Harry."

"Got everything? Letter?" Hagrid asked opening the door. "Fine day for a walk, train station is just a few streets over from here."

Xander nodded absentmindedly, there was more said after that something about the current minister being a bumbling idiot, but he was too busy going over the implication of an actual governing body for all things magical, "So, what does a Ministry of Magic do?"

"Well mainly keep it from the Muggles that there's still witches an' wizards up an' down the country."

"Why?" It seemed odd that they'd need to since Sunnydale never had a problem with people ignoring or plain forgetting the weird things that plagued the town.

"Blimey, Harry, everyone'd be wantin' magic solutions to everythin'. Nah we're best left alone. "

Xander didn't agree but he decided it wasn't worth arguing the point, so he shrugged it off.

When they reached the worn sign declaring The Leaky Cauldron, over a non-descript store front on Chairing Cross road, Xander held back from the door turning to Hagrid, "Hagrid?"

"Yeah?"

"You said I'm supposedly famous right? Well might it be best if I went in a bit more inconspicuously?"

"I spose," Hagrid replied with a hint of disappointment in his tone, almost like he'd been looking forward to being seen accompanying Harry on his first wizarding shopping trip.

Xander breathed a sigh of relief and pulled out a wig and baseball cap from, somewhere, which he firmly jammed down on his head. Best not to question where the wig came from yeh?

Xander didn't have much to say about the imposing edifice of Gringotts. The interior however was different. The long counter along the edge was mostly staffed by Dwarves with a few Gnomes running around here and there. Fact was disregarding the obvious signs of magic throughout the place, it carried the same distinguished air and stuffy nature of banks the world over.

There were a few Goblins present, all of which looked fairly young.

"Mr. Potter here to make a withdrawal," Hagrid said when it was finally their turn to speak to a teller.

"And would Mr. Potter happen to have his key?" The Gnome-girl behind the glass squeaked breathily. Gnomes had very little of the jolly appearance of the standard garden gnome statues non-magicals enjoyed placing in gardens. They looked almost human just scaled down, way down. Her hair was dark brown and had small green plants growing in it, their roots tangling and interweaving with the hair.

It did make him wonder where it had been all these years, when Hagrid produced the large key from somewhere when asked; but then he figured given the way the Dursleys acted around him when he first showed up, it probably was better it hadn't been kept with him.

"'m not sure which I prefer," Hagrid commented when facing the prospect of using the recently installed overhead rail system the dwarves had installed as a replacement for the cart system the goblins used.

The rail car was enclosed all the way around with an opening near front for the driver, and windows along the sides. Xander shrugged and ascended the steps of the car into the expanded space within.

A barely noticeable jolt and the cart was zooming deep into the vault system. Xander was impressed even though the cart was definitely swaying on the overhead rail with each turn and change in speed, if not for the windows he wouldn't know they were moving at all.

The stop at his vault was mostly uneventful though it left his knees feeling week at the mountains of coins within.

He was almost sad they'd decided to switch to the overhead rail car system when they had to switch to one of the older goblin made carts to stop at another vault on "Hogwarts business," as Hagrid put it. The older system was exhilarating, but he could see how it would be off-putting for some of the older people that kept their money in the bank's vaults.

With that accomplished, they were off to shopping. They started with 'Madam Malkin's' as it was right next to the bank.

"Say, Harry do you mind if I step out for a moment?" Hagrid asked, when he noticed it would take a moment to get Xander's robes fitted.

"Go ahead," Xander shrugged, not wanting to look eager to lose the adult supervision, as relaxed as it was besides the ride on the older goblin style cart did make the gentle giant look a bit green.

Xander took his place to wait to get fitted.

"Hogwarts?" Xander looked up at the voice, he gave a nod, quietly snarking to himself, 'where else?'

"Any idea where you'll be sorted?"

Xander just shrugged, Hagrid having explained about the houses on the way to the alley. "Not a clue."

"I think I'd leave if I was sorted into Hufflepuff," the blond blathered on heedless of the darkening expression on the face of Thaddeus Fletcher the tailor, with a 'Hufflepuff Yellow' tie, working behind him with rather sharp needles.

Xander gave an apologetic look to Thaddeus. If Slytherin was about cunning, then Hufflepuff would be the perfect house for a true Slytherin, especially if their reputation was anything close to what the blond ponce kept going on about, no one would ever suspect them. Besides there was nothing wrong with getting your hands dirty with hard work.

Yep nothing wrong with hard work, even better though, was learning magic to get the hard work done faster, and how else should a wizard perform magic than with a wand. Which is how Xander found himself almost an hour and maybe a two dozen wands later being stared at by Garrick Ollivander.

"Curious, very curious," the old man said.

Xander's eyes narrowed. "Yeah, that's not creepy at all, and what's curious?"

"That you should be destined for this wand, when its brother... Why, its brother, gave you, that scar!" Ollivander exclaimed.

"Well, isn't this just the start of a beautiful partnership then isn't it," Xander quipped, staring at the stick of holly.

"Make no mistake Mr. Potter, while the wands may have been brothers, your wand is fully yours. The wand does choose the wizard," Ollivander reprimanded lightly.

Xander hummed, giving the wand a stirring motion towards the ceiling. He smiled slightly at the colored sparks the tip shed. "Am I doing that?"

"It's a spell placed on the shop to help identify a good response," Garrick Ollivander replied, exasperation seeping into his voice. "Would you mind putting that down before you poke an eye out?"

Xander looked up, quickly setting the wand back in the box, "Sorry."

"This one still doesn't feel quite right, it's better than all the others, but," he trailed off at the artificer's expression. "Say, it wouldn't be possible to use other items as foci would it?" Xander asked.

"You are a curious wizard, Mister Potter. One would think such things would have been included in your upbringing surely, but alas. Please keep in mind Mister Potter, this is a wands shop, not a general shop for magical implements and foci. I have of course answered such questions for the occasional muggleborn. Staffs were big centuries ago, but fell out of use with the statute of secrecy, though I still get an order every now and then from curse breakers, but they don't have the... finesse of a wand," Ollivander offered.

"Hmm, hard to break and can be used to thump most animals when attacked," Xander muttered.

Ollivander looked a bit scandalized at the thought of someone using a magical implement in such a manner, but nodded. Even if they weren't intended for such use, when crafted well, they were exceptionally hard to break.

"They're mainly for area of effect and larger magics though, not meant for learning with, and the cost can be prohibitive, same for gems," the old wand maker said, "Every now and then I get a request to affix a gem to an existing focus, mostly topaz and sapphire."

"Any other options?" Xander asked.

The wand maker gave him a shrewd stare, "there are... rings, and bracelets, both have been used by different magical traditions, and to varying effect, I haven't made any myself, generally too focused on a specific magical tradition. Coincidentally, I do have a stock of beginner's tomes regarding the creation of magic foci, which I'm willing to part with for 3 galleons."

Xander handed over the galleons. When Ollivander returned with the book he mentioned conspiratorially, "Wand lore, and foci creation is a complicated field of magic, Mr. Potter, while I doubt any alternative foci would ever stand up to a wand, they do have their uses. And I expect you to treat them with respect, young man. As for the feeling of discomfort with the focus that has chosen you, it should pass with use as the two of you familiarize yourselves with each other."

Xander gulped and gave a slight nod filling the information and observations away as he accepted the small tome from the wandmaker.

"Speaking of, where exactly am I supposed to carry this thing?" Xander asked still holding the wand out like it was something dangerous, instead of a beautifully crafted stick with a bit of magical animal stuffed inside, which being a wand, in the right hands it absolutely was dangerous.

"Not many young wizards and witches think of such things," Ollivander said, with a hint of approval. "Might I recommend a wand holster from Claudius Corra," the old wand maker continued without missing a beat. "His shop is just down the way."

"Thank you Mr. Ollivander." A short time later Xander was headed back up the alley with his wand tucked into a brand-new holster attached to his forearm.

On the way back towards the leaky cauldron he spotted Hagrid headed his way carrying an older looking birdcage in which perched a mid-sized juvenile brown owl.

Xander recalled the note on the letter regarding acceptable pets being the somewhat stereotypical ones associated with wizard and witches.

"I 'ad me eye on a beautiful snowy-white, but she wasn't there," Hagrid said sadly. "Dead useful, post-owls. Happy birthday Harry."

Xander took a second look when it seemed some of the feathers shimmered almost polished bronze for a moment.

"Thanks Hagrid," Xander said, finding himself after being momentarily captivated in his examination of the bird. The bird shifted in its cage, staring into his eyes.

"Oh, before I forget, you'll want your train ticket," Hagrid pulled Xander aside and passed him an elaborate printed gold ticket. "It's more of a souvenir in the long run, but it's been charmed so the muggles see a valid ticket that'll get you to king's cross if needed."

Xander raised an eyebrow, "Nine and three quarters? As far as I know, most train stations count platforms by whole numbers."

"Magic, Harry," Hagrid replied. "ya just walk straight at the third barrier between nine and ten. Now, it's getting late. So, we'd best get you home."

Xander looked around the alley, annoyed at the thought of having to leave before he could get a chance to exploit, ahem, thoroughly explore all the shops. He silently vowed to himself that he'd be back. Though, he'd still managed to get a fair amount more than was on the list each time Hagrid had popped out for unspecified somethings.


	5. The Platform

Xander mostly kept to his room for his last month with the Dursleys, with only his new owl for company; the owl of course had taken several days to choose a suitable name, rejecting each one Xander tried. His first choice of Jesse was rejected with a very pointed look and a dissatisfied preck, that he felt quite clearly cast aspersions on his intelligence.

the owl bullied him into picking a name from his history text, after a few days of trying to guess a name, he found it in the section on recent history when the owl gave a bark of approval at Herwin Schrodinger, an arithmancer from the early 1920s, Xander got a kick out of the chosen name, as the name he was supposed to be using in this body could so easily be a diminutive for, not to mention, one of the man's middle names was Alexander.

The older Dursleys, for their part, kept giving him side glances, and long searching looks. Mostly, they just let him do as he wished. Given their behavior before his little ritual, their current hands-off attitude was undoubtedly an improvement. But, it did become a bit depressing after a while.

About a week after Hagrid's visit, Vernon Dursley pulled him aside one morning and in his usual manner dictated to the boy, "We're going golfing this morning, boy," He made a face, "Dudley, will be spending the morning with his mother."

Xander was pretty sure he heard his uncle mutter under his breath something about how his son became such a useless lay-about, as his uncle expressed disbelief that he'd let the situation go on for as long as he had.

"We'll grab a bite to eat on the way," the corpulent uncle frowned as he took in the boy's appearance. "Looks like we'll be getting you something a bit better to wear, while we're at it."

With a shrug at Vernon's muttering under his breath, expressing wonder that he would allow such slovenly and ill-fitting dress under his roof. Not that it mattered to the large man that his nephew had been wearing that [i]exact[/i] outfit because he was planning on rearranging the garden. Xander returned upstairs to change into an outfit he'd picked up after convincing Hagrid that he'd be just fine making his own way to the train back to Little Whinging.

At the end of the day he was on much better terms with the older man, who was in a good mood having won the last round of golf. Xander had taken the role of caddie, finding that despite his glasses, he had an excellent judge of distances; and once the different clubs had been explained to him, he discovered an almost instinctive sense as to which one would give the most desired result.

"I still can't believe this is the first time your nephew has ever been golfing, Vernon," Mr. Cooksey needled as they discussed one of the accounts at work.

Mr. Dursley just shrugged and smiled, "I can't believe I waited this long to bring him."

On the drive home, Mr. Dursley conversed with Xander, "Harry, I understand you've accepted the offer to attend your parent's alma mater."

"Yes, sir," Xander answered wondering where he was going with this.

"You'll be away for several months, have you given thought to returning for the holidays?"

"No, sir," Xander answered.

Vernon hummed and hawed for a moment before speaking, "As I'm sure you know, Dudley will be attending my own alma mater."

Xander wondered where he was going with this, so he said so, "excuse me but where are we going with this."

"Harry, this will be the first time in ten years that Petunia and I have had the house to ourselves, your aunt will probably be driven to distraction by the quiet; I may not be the young man your aunt married anymore, but, well, that is to say, if you're willing to stay at your school over the holiday. I'm planning to take Petunia away for a few weeks to, put some spark back into our marriage, so to speak."

Xander blushed, "stop, please, say no more. No, really, please, I may not understand you completely, but I get your meaning. I'll spend the holiday at school."

"Also, while you're away we're going to do a bit of redecorating. I'm ashamed to admit that I allowed it to get as far as it did, boy, but I'm afraid our actions towards both you and Dudley have been beyond the pale. Why I would allow my own child to have two rooms, one of which filled to the brim with nothing but his castoffs, and broken toys," Vernon grumbled to himself. "I'm getting ahead of myself, Harry, would you mind terribly, for the summer months, taking the room currently occupied by my spoiled son's toys. I'll make sure that it's cleared out and that we replace the furniture in there with something more appropriate."

Xander shrugged. "Alright," he said, as he couldn't see any sense in being difficult. The shift in the conversation gave him a chance to bring up something that had been bothering him though.

"Uncle," Xander said, it still felt strange for him to call the large man, uncle.

"What is it," Vernon grunted.

"I, um, I'll need to be at King's Cross Station on September First, for school," Xander said.

Vernon made a non-committal grunt.

"Would you drop me off there on the way in to work?" Xander finished.

The car being at a stoplight, Vernon looked over at him, "didn't figure they'd use a train to get to a magic school, all the magic carpets run off on them?" Vernon said, looking highly amused with himself.

Xander paused. "I think I read that they banned those in the U.K. about a century ago," he said, after about a minute of silence.

Vernon chuckled, and then sobered. "Listen, Harry, I know we haven't been the most caring guardians; but the magical idiots are dangerous people," he heaved a sigh, his mustache twitched as he searched for the words. "It's not easy to admit this, Harry but, I'm horrified of the way magical people do things; terrified to tell the truth, and there's a reason beyond the stories your aunt tells. A reason I'm not quite ready to go into yet, but, it's not like you can help it, being magical. Just promise me something Harry," Vernon said, pulling the car to a stop in the driveway of Number 4, before looking him straight in the eyes. "Keep your eyes open, and question everything they tell you."

—Xander Potter—

Vernon knocked on his door before the sun rose reminding him through the closed door that he had to go in early that morning. After a very abbreviated breakfast, the corpulent man rather calmly ushered him out to the car.

When they arrived at the station it was just going on ten, Xander was double checking to make sure his bottomless backpack had all his things, when Vernon stopped him.

"Remember, boy, question everything they tell you," he said cryptically.

"Alright, uncle," Xander said, a puzzled expression on his face.

"Have a good term," Uncle Vernon said after a long pause where it looked like he wanted to say something more but decided not to.

Xander finished getting out of the car, seeing the crowd, he was suddenly very glad he'd asked Herwin if he wanted to fly to the school instead of ride the train. An owl wasn't exactly a normal pet, and being nocturnal creatures normally and traditionally, Herwin would've raised quite a few questions were he to be seen with one in public.

Thirty minutes of sight-seeing and exploration later, Xander looked up at the clock and decided he'd procrastinated long enough, it was time to find that train. Xander ducked into the restroom and reached into his backpack, his arm impossibly disappearing into the pack, up to his shoulder. Feeling around, his fingers finally caught on what he was looking for, withdrawing his arm from the bag, he held a wig of curly brown hair and a dark red fedora. Quickly sorting out the headgear, he exited the restroom, and pushed his way through the crowd towards platforms nine and ten.

The barrier between the two platforms was conspicuously empty of foot traffic, standing there looking back and forth, to see if anyone was watching; Xander carefully inched a finger towards the barrier, observing with fascination as the seemingly solid brickwork distorted around his extended digit.

His musing was interrupted by a loud, shrill voice somewhere behind him, "Packed with muggles, every year."

Xander looked around but didn't see the source, shrugging he shouldered the backpack he'd bought, he closed his eyes summoned his courage and stepped through the barrier.

It felt like walking through static electricity, the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stood on end, and then he hit a cool sensation like water flowing over him without making his clothes wet, and then he was through. He opened his eyes to the platform on the other side, where people milled about.

—Xander Potter—

A scarlet steam engine was waiting next to the platform on the other side of the barrier; the platform itself was packed with people. A sign overhead said Hogwarts Express, next to it the clock showed the time, he shook his head, between the little café he'd stopped in at to purchase a sack lunch for later, and navigating the crowd to get to the platform, it'd taken him fifteen minutes.

He glanced behind him, and saw a wrought-iron archway in the place of the barrier. Through which, he could clearly see the mundane side of the station.

The engineers were going over the train engine again, white billowy clouds of smoke periodically lifting out of the smokestacks over the crowd. He could see quite a few cats milling about darting between feet, while the still caged Owls hooted indignantly at their owners.

All around him he could hear the heavy trunks scraping the concrete as students struggled to board the train.

A brief glance at the first few carriages of the train showed him that they were already packed if the faces of students looking through the windows, some of them hanging through the openings to talk with their families were anything to go by.

Suddenly, he was very glad he'd remembered the wig.

He passed a dark-haired boy with puffy bags under his eyes like he'd been perpetually crying on and off for the past year, who was presently saying, "Gran, I think I've lost my toad again."

Xander heard the stern looking, older woman sigh, "Oh, Neville," before she waived her wand and something darted out of the boy's luggage and into her palm.

Further away he heard the same shrill voice from the other side of the barrier and supposed they'd managed to follow him through okay.

"Fred? George? Help your brother with his luggage, dears!"

He spotted two redheaded twins that looked up at the voice, "See you later lee, they said walking back the way he'd come. One of them brushing into him as they passed, stopping only long enough to steady him.

"Sorry mate, duty calls. Our mother, you see, or is that hear."

Xander found an empty compartment and sat down next to the window, where he could hear what was going on outside the train and watch.

He chuckled to himself as they said something about sending their sister a toilet seat, while he wondered what a prefect was.

A moment later the train began to move, Xander watched all the parents waving to their children as they left, feeling rather morose himself, at the same time though he couldn't let the feeling sit very long as the train rounded the corner, the city outside the window passing by as the train picked up speed. He was going to a magic school to learn magic!

The door of the compartment slid open and he pudgy faced boy with the toad from the platform looked in.

"Um," he started hesitantly when Xander looked up, "Is anyone sitting there?" he asked pointing towards the seat facing Xander. "I'm sure there are compartments further back but this is getting heavy," he said indicating the luggage he was dragging behind him.

Xander smiled and motioned for him to go ahead, "it's a free country, or at least, I think it is."

The boy looked at him with a puzzled expression, "where are you from?"

"Surrey, apparently," Xander replied.

"Oh, it's just your accent," Neville started.

"Yeah, I've been told I sound like one of those backwards Americans," Xander replied with a grin.

"I'm Neville, Neville Longbottom," Neville said, suddenly sounding shy again.

"Call me Xander, only my name is actually Harry, but please I'd prefer Xander," Xander said holding out a hand.

Neville looked at him oddly before accepting the hand with a shrug, "pleasure to meet you, Xander."

"So, what do you wizard raised types do for fun when stuck sitting like this," Xander said.

Neville explained about gob-stones, exploding snap, and wizarding chess.

Xander hummed, interestedly at the idea of animated chess pieces, wondering if any other games could be animated like that. He thought it'd be cool if they could add flying pieces to the game, and said so, "You know what would be cool to add, flying pieces, I'm sure there's a charm that could be used to make them hover over the board, you could add dragon knights, or gryphon riders."

Neville looked off into the distance for a moment, before replying, "but how would their move rules work."

Xander shrugged, they both lapsed into silence as they thought about how the idea could work. Glancing out the window watching the countryside and rural roads flick past. He'd hardly noticed the change in scenery while they were talking, but as he glanced out the window, he could see they were now well away from London.

A little over two hours after they'd left the station, there was some noise from the corridor, and their compartment door slid open to reveal a cart laden with snacks and cartons of something.

"Would you gentlemen like anything off the cart?" the girl pushing the cart was slender and had ears that looked like they tapered to a point, she was on the short side, and her eyes looked a bit too large for her head.

At first, Xander was enthusiastic about the prospect of the cart, but after a moment of looking over the wares he was disappointed at the lack of Twinkies, mars bars, or just about anything else he was familiar with.

Turning to Neville he asked, "Anything you'd recommend?"

Neville dug in his pocket for his money, "just a few Chocolate Frogs, and Licorice Wands for me. Stay away from the cauldron cakes, Xander, I swear the things are evil. And, the 'Every Flavor Beans', are literally every flavor, it sounds cool until you realize the brown ones could be dung flavored instead of something nice like chocolate or root beer."

Xander settled for a few Chocolate Frogs and Licorice Wands like Neville, stepping out on a limb, he also grabbed a small box of the beans.

The view outside the window had steadily grown wilder, tamed fields giving way to the forests of northern England.

There was a knock on the door of their compartment and a red-haired boy with a smudged nose poked a head in. His cheeks were flushed red and he looked like he'd just gotten done yelling angrily at someone.

"Sorry," he said, "but have you seen a stoat at all?"

Neville, and Xander shook their heads no, and the boy grumbled, "stupid, scabby, the thing keeps running off."

Xander had a brainwave, "hey Neville, what was that spell your gran used earlier."

"The summoning charm, but it's like a fourth-year charm," Neville replied, his cheeks tinging pink in embarrassment as he remembered losing his own pet earlier.

"What's the incantation?" Xander asked, his expression saying, 'just humor me.'

"Um, accio?" Neville said hesitantly.

Xander raised an eyebrow but shrugged.

"Hey, what's your name, you got your wand on you?" Xander asked.

"It's Ron, Ron Weasley," the other boy said, rummaging in his robes for a moment before pulling a battered wand from a back pocket, the wand was clearly ancient, bits of something silvery that looked like hair showing through in a few places where the wood was worn and chipped.

He'd just finished extricating the wand from his robes when the door opened again. There was a girl standing there already wearing her new school robes.

"Has anyone seen—" she said, and then stopped spotting the boy who's pet she was looking for. She had a bossy sort of voice, and her long brown hair looked like it'd take a team of stylists' half a year to tame into something more manageable.

"Oh, are you doing magic?" she said spotting the wand, her face lighting up with curiosity, "Let's see it, then."

She pushed her way into the compartment taking a seat next to Neville, Ron looked taken a back.

"Er—"

Xander frowned, shaking away a memory of a yellow crayon before going back to Ron.

"Hold your wand out and picture, scabby? Picture scabby firmly in your mind imagine him coming through the door and into your hand and then firmly intone the incantation. Accio," Xander said, hoping he'd got the instruction right.

"Er—All right."

Ron cleared his throat, closed his eyes, and called out, "Accio!"

"Are you sure that's a real spell?" said the girl. "Only, it doesn't seem to be doing very much." And here she had the grace to look embarrassed. "I've tried a few simple spells, just for practice once I got to the station, and they all seemed to work for me."

A great deal of nothing, seemed too happened all at once, and then almost without warning Xander felt as though a wave of something passed over him. Ron opened his eyes staring at the wand about to put it away.

"No," Xander called out, "keep your wand up and hold out your hand."

A squealing noise came through the door and the voice of someone Harry thought sounded like one of the twins from early shouting, "Hey, our test subject!" and then a rather unremarkable raggedy looking stoat with gray fur was pulled into the compartment as though something where holding it by the scruff of the neck.

Ron stared at his wand in shock almost dropping both the stoat and the wand. "Scabby!"

"How did you do that, I haven't read about that spell, I don't think it's in our books. I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?"

She said all of this very fast, and again Xander suppressed a memory of red hair and another equally fast-paced talker.

"I'm Neville," Neville introduced himself quietly.

"I go by Xander," Xander said, casually.

Hermione looked at him oddly at the name, "That's an odd name, I suppose I don't have any room to talk considering my own name, though. But you've got a thing," she said pointing towards his forehead. "Harry Potter's supposed to have a scar like that, He's supposed to be our age and attending this year, I've read all about him, of course — I got a few extra books," her cheeks tinged pink.

"Really? I don't see how the books could offer much insight on the subject," Xander said. "You see, only four people were there, and none of them could talk about what happened at the time, and I don't imagine anyone has actually spoken with the only survivor since that night. Not like they'd get much out of him anyway, consider he was, what one year old at the time?"

Hermione's cheeks flushed again, and she quickly vacated the compartment.

"I suppose I should go make sure she's alright," Ron said. "Hope to see you two in Gryffindor, I know we haven't been sorted yet, but none of my family has been in any other house since well forever. It's almost a forgone conclusion."

Ron left the compartment closing the door behind him.

Neville tinged pink, and Xander noticed, "Hey, Nev, what's wrong?"

"Gran wants me to be in Gryffindor, only I'm not much of a wizard, I'll probably end up in Hufflepuff."

Xander frowned, but reached out to place a hand on the other boy's shoulder, "Neville, I think you'll be a great wizard. And, there's nothing wrong with Hufflepuff, why I'm aiming for that house myself, because it's the house of the understated, and besides, as cunning as I've been told I am, I refuse to go to Slytherin, anyone with true cunning would never allow themselves to be placed into the house that paints a giant watch me target on your back. I'd probably die the first night if I went to Slytherin, I wouldn't say no to Gryffindor though. And I think you, Neville are Gryffindor material, it takes courage to step up when everything in you is screaming at you to sit back and hide."

"Tell you what, if they sort by last name, you'll get sorted before me, so whatever house you get into, I'll pitch a fit to be placed in the same house so that you have at least one person who you know will be your friend," Xander said with a grin.

"Thanks," Neville said, he still looked nervous but somehow, he seemed to sit a little bit straighter. Xander smiled to himself.

Just then his stomach grumbled reminding him that he had a sack lunch still, reaching into his backpack he produced the white paper bag dumping the huge sandwich into the table he unfolded from under the window.

"Would you like some?" Xander asked. "It's a bit late for lunch, but if we split it, it should hold us over until the welcoming feast."

They'd just finished with the crumbs when the door opened again, this time a tall boy with short red hair and an odd badge with a stylized letter P was at the entrance to the compartment, "We will be arriving at the station shortly. You two should get your school robes on, you can leave the rest of your things packed they'll be sent up to your dorm once you've been sorted."

Neville was already in his robes, the only thing remaining was to fix the tie and shirt. Xander however, had to fish his robes out of his bag and then pull them over his head.

A voice echoed through the train: "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately."

The train lurched as the brakes kicked in slowing the train until it coasted to a stop. The corridor outside was suddenly very crowded as everyone was pushing their way out and off the train. Xander motioned for Neville to wait, "No rush Nev, let it clear up a bit and then we won't get trampled underfoot."

When they finally exited the train, Xander shivered, he hadn't realized it would be so cold, and the chill breeze wasn't helping. A lamp bobbed over the heads of the students in the distance and Xander heard a voice he remembered from a month prior, the man who had to have a giant somewhere in his family, "Firs years! Over here! Harry! Did ya have a good train ride?"


	6. The sorting

Xander couldn't help but smile at the towering figure.

"It was totally awesome, dude."

Hagrid's big hairy face broke into a broad grin.

"Glad ya liked it, Harry."

He seemed to be doing some mental arithmetic before nodding and calling for the gathered students to follow him.

The half-giant led the gathered students away from the train platform, and down what seemed to be a steep, narrow path paved with stone. To either side of the path was a great looming darkness that gave the impression of a thick forest of trees. Xander found himself thankful of the light shining from the great staff Hagrid was walking with. He could hear Neville taking deep breaths behind him.

Hagrid said something that was muffled by the distance, and the students between them. His words became apparent as the downward trend of the path flattened out into a broad walkway paved in smooth red stone slabs.

Along the walkway, Xander could see railings with orbs of light glowing so softly they might as well not have been there at all. On the far side from where they descended, he could just see the path continued beyond them winding around a bend and out of sight; it was also paved with smaller slabs of the same stone.

Once Hagrid was sure all the other first years had finished descending the steep path, he lead them down the pathway. As they approached the bend in the trail, the looming darkness all around them began to clear away. He could see the stone of the path, receding off into the distance beneath the water's edge, and in the distance, a small mountain on the other side of a great black lake. Partially carved into the stone of the mountainside, and jutting out in great towering spires, turrets, and towers, stood a vast castle. The last rays of the setting sun cast a sharp relief on the smooth white stone of the walls, from the distance, the sloped blue stone tile of the roof gleamed in the fading light.

There were a great many windows, reflecting sunlight on one side, and in the shaded relief glowing from within. Great swirls of golden tracery scrolled their way across the white stone walls, in a way that Xander could almost swear looked like cursive in an alphabet he'd never seen before. Around the edge of the castle and extending out into the forest in the distance he could see stone fortifications and the occasional tower, from which banners of green waved.

Behind him he heard the excited whisper of another first year.

"The banners change color to represent the house that won the previous year's house cup, I read about it in _Hogwarts: A History."_

Xander's cheeks hurt from the grin of excitement, and he murmured his own exclamation of appreciation with the rest of the students. This, this was exactly the sort of castle one went to, when needing to learn magic, Xander thought.

When, they'd all finished drinking in the sight of the castle, Hagrid called their attention to the wooden rowboats at the water's edge. They were tied to a series of hitching points, each one alternating between the shape of four animals: a raven sitting low on the ground, head cocked to the side, one beady eye facing the path, the other aimed at the lake; a large head of a snake rising from somewhere beneath the stone; a badger sitting up on its haunches, forepaws held off the ground; and a small lion sitting on its haunches; as he drew closer, he noticed that each of the statues seemed to hold a different pose than the previous.

Xander heard Hagrid's declaration, regarding the number of people for each boat and looked around the group, quickly spotting Ron being pulled towards a boat by Hermione. Catching Ron's eye and chuckling at the panicked expression in the other boy's face, he waived.

"Looks like Hermione's got the right idea," Xander said to Neville. "Want to join them?" he asked.

Neville shrugged, he was eyeing the water nervously, but as Xander had already started moving, the other boy had to rush to catch up.

"Hey, wait for me!"

Somewhere up ahead, Xander heard the blond-haired boy from the shopping trip rather loudly complain about how muggle it was to use boats instead of flying carpets, or brooms. By this point they'd drawn up next to Hermione and Ron.

"The ministry banned flying carpets, which included the legacy carpets held by Hogwarts that would have been used traditionally," said Hermione, flushing pink again when the other three turned to look at her. "What? I read about it, in Hogwarts: A history," she said, as if daring them to say something more.

"Everyone in?" shouted Hagrid, once it appeared that everyone had settled into a boat. "Right then," from within the folds of his large overcoat, he withdrew a conspicuous pink umbrella and tapped the first statue in the line, a rather ornery looking lion. "FORWARD!"

The eyes of the statues started glowing and then the ropes came undone, lifting into the air above the water as a pair of glowing orbs for each boat shout away from the statues taking up position at the front of the boats. Without anyone lifting a finger, aside from Hagrid's umbrella motion, the boats cast off from the dock gliding across the lake.

As they drew closer to the mountain of a castle, the winding path down from the castle became clearer, illuminated against the now dark evening night by globes of orange spaced at regular intervals along the path; and Xander noticed they were drawing closer to a large stone building, hidden behind a curtain of ivy. "Watch yer heads," Hagrid's voice carried across the lake from the front of the line of boats. "The ivy can get a bit shirty sometimes." Several of the first-year students raised their hands to cover their heads.

The wisps of light leading their boats carried them through the curtain of ivy and along a dark tunnel, with only the light from whatever spell was pulling their boats to see by, it felt like they went on for ages, and then they were abruptly within an enclosed harbor which mirrored the one they'd used on the other side of the lake. Hagrid's umbrella made another appearance and the ropes of the boats made their way around the hitching posts. The wisps of light leading the boats darted into the eyes of the statues before dimming to nothing.

Xander clambered out of the boat and then held out a hand to help Hermione, the two of them pulled Ron, and then Neville out of the boat.

They made their way up the flight of stone steps, where everyone was crowded around the entrance to the castle. The massive oak doors were at least two levels in height, and like the walls Xander had seen from across the lake, they were covered with a swirling pattern of metal filigree.

—Xander Potter—

Xander felt the urge to make himself smaller under the imposing gaze of the tall woman behind the door. She was tall, with black hair that was pulled back, and bound in a no-nonsense bun at the top of her head. There was a stern presence about her, that made him feel like he should be confessing everything he'd ever done wrong. As her eyes swept over the crowd of new students, her expression softened almost imperceptibly, and the strict demeanor somehow warmed, making him feel welcome.

"I see the view was just as impressive for this year's first year students, as every other, Hagrid," said Professor McGonagall to their guide, before she turned to the students and continued, "Welcome to Hogwarts, I am Professor McGonagall."

With a wave of her hand, the large oak door swung wide to reveal a grand entrance hall, which Xander was sure could make any king or queen feel poor if they were to ever somehow see it.

The ceiling just kept on going and going, higher and higher, and Xander figured it went straight to the top of the castle, too high for him to make out much in the way of details only that it seemed there were windows based on the line of silvery light on a wall high above.

At regular intervals along the walls, where one might expect torches, there were shards of crystal maybe two thirds the size of a football, hovering enclosed within golden metal cages, each giving off a warm yellow glow. The light from within the seemed to flicker and waver, casting shadows on the walls that oddly enough seemed to emulate the flicker of flames.

"They used to use torches," said Hermione, cutting into his thoughts, and he resolved that he was going to have to get a copy of that book she kept going on about at some point. "A few of the enchanting alumni approached the deputy headmistress at the end of the last war about renovating the castle, something about giving a better impression of the magical realm to new students, there was a whole chapter discussing the arguments for and against the proposed and implemented changes."

Through a door on the right, they could hear the steady hum of conversation from what sounded like hundreds of voices, which was quickly shut out as they entered a large round room at what must have been the base of the tower he'd seen just outside the entrance hall, Xander could tell it was a tower because of steps curling their way around the outer wall of the room until they disappeared behind a wall that went straight up to the ceiling.

Xander listened intently as the professor gave a short speech about the houses. He smiled slightly as she acknowledged the achievements and contributions to society that had come from all four houses, regardless of her own personal bias, she'd made the effort to be fair, and not give an impression that she would favor any one house over another. Though the emphasis she placed on the house system, and its existence bore some heavy implications. Xander's own inference being that, while the houses shared teachers, they acted almost independently of each other outside of classes, almost as if they were four separate schools that were forced to share the same castle.

The characteristics of each house, coupled with the recent observations, gave him the impression that there was more to be said about the reasoning for the existence of each of the houses, not to mention the point system; though he wasn't quite sure just what it was right now. How they were sorted was of more interest.

"How, exactly do they determine what house to sort us into?" he asked, turning to his companions.

The other two turned to Hermione expectantly, and she fidgeted beneath their stares.

"It's all rather secretive, Hogwarts: A history, just said that they like to keep the sorting a surprise," said Hermione hesitantly.

"George, or was that Fred, no, I'm almost certain it was George, said it hurt, a lot. But I'm sure they were joking, because they also said, something about having to swim across the lake to get here, " said Ron.

"Uncle Algie said we'd have to fight a troll," said Neville a little shakily, "He said they decide our houses based on how we fought," and then Neville's expression brightened, "of course my Gran laid into him after overhearing what Uncle Algie said."

The smirk on the other boy's face as he reminisced made Xander want to take a step back.

"I doubt we'd have to fight a troll," said Xander, throwing an arm around Neville's shoulder and leaning on the other boy. "But it does make for an interesting puzzle. How would you determine the house based off such a fight? If you run to help a friend fight then you're a Hufflepuff, if you try to get behind the troll and take it out with a sneak attack, then Slytherin, if you use magic and it works even though we haven't been taught any yet, you're a Ravenclaw, and if you charge at it head-on, Gryffindor?"

The other three looked at him oddly.

"It was just a thought," said Xander.

There was a shout of surprise from one of the students and everyone turned to see what the commotion was.

"I say, friar, they're getting younger every year it seems," said the translucent figure of a tall man with a Victorian outfit.

"Hum, I do think you're right Gideon," hummed another slightly shorter ghost, this one was wearing a monk's habit.

"What are you all doing in here, there's too many of you for this to be a late-night rendezvous at the Astronomy Tower," the taller one Gideon said.

"Oh, please, Gideon, you can't have forgotten what day it is, they're all waiting to be sorted into houses," the monk said with an exasperated tone, "Welcome young scholars, I'm Frère Fabian, though I've been known to answer to Friar. I hope to see you all in Hufflepuff, my old house you know, unlike this uncouth barbarian."

"Be right back," Xander whispered to his companions, and then he took the chance the distraction offered to slip over to the door to the room.

"You wound me dear Friar, I hope, you're not implying that I'm an uncouth barbarian because of the house I was sorted into, or that mine is the house of uncouth barbarians. Why. I believe Sir Nicholas would be most upset with you," said Gideon.

"If he remembers the last two years with those redheaded twins, Sir Nicholas would agree with me," said the Friar, before the two ghosts trailed off through another wall.

Xander caught her before she could re-enter the room, stepping out into the hall. If the professor was surprised to find the boy with brown hair, startling green eyes, and a slightly fading scar on his brow tugging on her sleeve staring up at her, she didn't let it show, if anything else, she doubled down on the stern expression.

"Yes," asked McGonagall.

"Could you, by any chance call me Xander, instead of Harry during the sorting?" said Xander.

McGonagall eyed him, before consulted a long scroll of parchment she'd pulled out of her sleeve, and gave him a look.

"Name?" said McGonagall.

"Harry Potter," answered Xander.

Her eyes flicked up to his wig of wavy brown hair.

"Mister Potter, the magic of the sorting requires that we use your name as entered on the roll, there may be time later when you can persuade the professors individually of your preferred method of address."

"I understand, I don't like it, but I understand," said Xander.

"I am sorry, Xander, I will of course call you by your preferred name after the sorting," She said, hiding the scroll away again and then gently ushering him back into the room, "Let us gather the other students, shall we?"

—Xander Potter—

The Great Hall, was impressive, and deserving of the somehow uppercase letters he could hear in just the way those two words were spoken. He overheard Hermione comment on the ceiling being enchanted, and looked up gaping in surprise at the impression, that the hall was open to the night sky, that there wasn't a ceiling there at all.

"Impressive, isn't it," came the smug voice of the blond who had complained about the boats earlier.

The noise of something being set on the bare stone called Xander's attention back to what Professor McGonagall was doing. Sitting on top of a stool was an old wizard's hat that looked like it had seen better days. Xander eyed the hat with amusement and consternation.

He wasn't sure if a hat was much better than the troll idea, and then the hat began to sing, and he was positive that his troll idea was better.

As the song finished and the applause died down, he looked along the line of first years and could see similar expressions on a few faces. Amusement, disappointment, incredulity, and a few expressions of genuine surprise and awe.

One by one, the professor called out the names, and Xander tried to pay attention to each name and face and the house they went into, friendly rivalry with the other houses or not, it would be a good idea to know the students he had to compete with. Sometimes, it seemed the hat barely touched the head of the student before shouting out their house, and others it felt like it took forever.

When it was Hermione's turn, the hat spent what must've been a full three minutes, and Hermione's expressions kept changing between pleased self-assuredness, to outrage, and back.

Xander could read Hermione's silent chant of Gryffindor on her lips.

"GRYFFINDOR!" shouted the hat.

And then Neville was called, Xander wondered just how much longer the ceremony would take as his legs were getting antsy from standing in one place for too long.

Neville walked to the hat, like a man condemned, but with a subtle dignity that Xander was sure hadn't been in his gait previously.

An unheard conversation passed, with only the expressions on Neville's face to give a hint of how that discussion went.

Finally, after a pause, the hat shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"

A few more students passed under the brim of the hat before moving onto their seats, and then Xander learned the name of the blond boy with the attitude from earlier.

"Malfoy, Draco," the professor called.

Xander was finally able to put a name to the face and had to stop himself from leaning forward in interest to see where the other boy would end up. He could remember quite clearly the comments the other boy had made in Madame Malkin's shop, and wasn't all that impressed by the other boy.

Malfoy struck him as just the type to be a bully, and it always paid to keep an eye on bullies.

The hat had barely touched the blond boy's head before it shouted, "SLYTHERIN."

Xander applauded with the rest of the hall, knowing the boy had gotten exactly what he claimed he wanted.

He was barely paying attention for the next few names as line of students rapidly dwindled, as they were sorted. Such that, he almost missed it when McGonagall called his name, still not used to being called, Harry. He stepped forward. His scalp suddenly itching something fierce underneath his brown wig, it was all he could do, to not rip the wig from his head and start scratching.

The whispers when she called out, "Potter, Harry!" broke him from his musings though, there seemed to be some consternation over the wig he was wearing, making people wonder why he didn't have the expected black hair.

"Potter, did she say?"

"He can't be Potter, Potter has black hair."

And then there was the shout of the red-haired boy back in the line. "He didn't tell me he was bloody Harry Potter!"

"Mister Weasley, that will be quite enough!"

By the time he'd reached the stool with the hat, the hall was filled with whispers. Xander turned and sat down feeling a little annoyed.

 _"Difficult. Yes, very difficult,"_ said a small voice in his ear, and he nearly jumped up and threw the hat off. _"Plenty of courage, or possibly reckless foolishness. Oh, ho, now this is interesting, what are you doing beneath my brim, Alexander? I was certain I was supposed to be sorting Mister Potter. Ah, I see now, so there it is, I had wondered what made the lazy wizards do something about the state of this castle after nearly nine centuries. Why, they even replaced my inner lining with a nice high-end silk."_

_"Hmm, I imagine you'd fit well into any of the houses, Mister Potter, yes, you're Mister Potter, now. No, it wasn't anything you did, at least not from what I can tell. However, you should take it as an easily learned lesson, never interrupt a ritual, with or without magic, unless you know the consequences. Unexpected things can happen."_

_"Now where to put you, Slytherin is out, a shame really, you could do great things with that house. Alas, I fear it would require too much of you in the end. Too much bloodshed, no, best not put you there. Might never get the blood stains out, let alone find all the bodies. You have the brains for Ravenclaw, and I see within you the thirst to learn all you can of your gift of magic. But no, knowledge isn't your world, Ravenclaw is not the fit for you either."_

_"Greatness, is well great and all, but I strive to be mediocre. If it's all the same to you, I'd prefer Gryffindor, with my friend,"_ Xander whispered back.

 _"Gryffindor, you say? Ah yes, that friend, he's already changed so much just from your friendship, you know. There's no doubt that you have enough loyalty for Hufflepuff, Mister Potter, but that wouldn't help you with your friend. Ah well, there was never any doubt that you had enough courage and bravery for the house of the lions. I had just hoped that one of your other qualities would be enough to sway the balance. Since you're so sure—better be_ GRYFFINDOR!"

There still seemed to be some confusion in the hall, as to whether he was really _the_ Harry Potter, and for a moment Xander himself was confused as to why before remembering the wig he was wearing. Xander lifted the hat from his head, and made his way over to the Gryffindor table to sit next to a grinning Neville, while his new house collectively shrugged and were now leading the applause with the rest of the hall.

Now that he was seated, he found it easier to look around the hall without feeling odd for looking away from the crowd of students. His attention fell on Hagrid sitting at the High Table, the large man grinned at him, and Xander gave a quick thumbs up.

The remaining four people were sorted relatively quickly, into Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, and finally Hufflepuff.

Xander felt his stomach grumble, and looked around the hall, it hadn't really been all that long ago that he'd shared his sack lunch on the train with Neville, but he was undeniably feeling hungry again.

The was a commotion at the High Table, and the aged wizard sitting in the center stood, Xander recalled the acceptance letter and realized this must be Albus Dumbledore.

His long flowing beard did little to hide the smile adorning his face.

"Willkommen, and Bienvenue, as our friends on the continent say," he said. "I see we have a bright bunch for the new school year at Hogwarts! Before we commence the feast, I have a few words to share with you all; and here they are: Blocky! Gibber! Stubby! Pluck!"

Xander at this moment wasn't watching the Headmaster, as something niggled in the back of his mind, and he was looking around the room. As Dumbledore said his few words, Xander spotted a small creature with huge eyes and floppy ears, pop into existence at the far end of each of the house tables from the High Table. The diminutive beings were wearing tunics died with the colors of the house table they stood next to.

"Thank you!" said Dumbledore.

Xander's eyes were still on the creature at the end of the table, who with the final word from Dumbledore, made a light snap with its fingers and suddenly the dishes in front of him were now piled with food, and the creature was gone. Xander set his thoughts about the small beings aside for the moment, there was something about the names of the chosen servants, that bugged him, not the veiled method in which they'd been called, but the names of the ones that had been called and the houses they were stationed to serve.

He was pulled from his thoughts back to the table when a ghost pushed its way up from beneath the table through the roast ham he was just reaching for.

"That does look good," said the ghost, in an echoing melancholy tone.

"Death does put a damper on the joys of the living," said Xander.

"Indeed, it's been nearly four hundred years since my passing," said the ghost, "but one does miss it. Pardon me my good sirs, I believe I've failed to introduce myself. Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington at your service. Welcome to Gryffindor."

Xander recalled the conversation between the ghosts before he'd slipped away to confront Professor McGonagall before the sorting.

"Friar Fabian mentioned you earlier," Xander said. "He was talking with another ghost Gideon, I think."

Sir Nicholas eyes lit up at the mention of the other ghost.

"Ah young Gideon, a delightful prankster when he attended. He's my apprentice you know. Such a shame about that severing curse. He still claims it was but a flesh wound. But at least he won't have to put up with the accursed nickname like I have."

When the feast transitioned to the desserts, Xander noticed the odd little creature again before it disappeared. Examining the mountain of sweets and confectionaries in front of him he took a slow breath and wondered if he still had room left in his stomach.

As the plate of chocolate eclairs in front of him was moved away by Neville, his eyes alighted upon something he was afraid he wouldn't be able to source in the castle.

"Twinkies!"

Across from him Hermione gave a look of disgust. "Please, Ron is bad enough."

Xander finished chewing and swallowed. "At least I don't talk while I'm chewing."

Xander grabbed another of the golden snack cakes and consumed the dessert at a much more sedate pace than before. He let the conversation wash over him, and was starting to feel the effects of stuffing himself and was feeling quite tired.

When he looked up again, the table had been cleared of the desserts and the Gandalf look-a-like was standing at the lectern.

"Thank you, thank you. No, Miss Eddington, I'm not colorblind. I'm perfectly aware just what shade of purple I'm wearing. Now, where was I."

"Your usual cryptic warnings, I imagine," came a dry response from one of the professors.

"Ah yes, thank you, now that you have all been well plied with meat and drink. I have a few, start-of-term notices."

"Students should note, the forbidden forest is, as its name should imply, forbidden; which I remind a few of you would do well to remember."

Xander thought he caught a hint of amusement directed towards a specific section of the Gryffindor table but it was gone as quickly as it came.

"I have also been asked by our caretaker, Mr. Filch, to kindly remind you all that the use of magic in the corridors in between classes is punishable by up to a month of detention per infraction. I hope you all understand my desire that it not escalate to the point where I have to step in."

"As usual, your heads of house will negotiate an appropriate time with their chosen team captains for team tryouts for the second week of term; those interested in making their sacrifice should get in touch with Madame Pomphrey, so she knows what you're supposed to look like when she puts you back together. It might also be appropriate for you to actually talk with your team captain and Madame Hooch. First years, Mister Malfoy, if you will recall your acceptance letters specifically mention that you are not allowed to bring your own broomstick. And as Madame Hooch has continuously requested that the board of governors approve replacement brooms for her flying instruction and has been thoroughly denied each time, on the off chance that you ignored this directive, the staff have been instructed to confiscate such brooms to be added to her stock."

"And finally, due to some regrettable damage at the end of last year, which resulted in the defense professor disappearing into a dimensional rift, the third-floor corridor of the east wing on the right-hand side is closed for remodeling, and is still quite dangerous to venture into. As I doubt you all are curse breakers being paid to untangle the mess, I hope you will all understand when I tell you not to go there, unless you want to experience a most painful injury."

Xander blanched.

"And on that note, I believe it's time for bed."


	7. The History Professor

The Gryffindor first years were gathered at the end of the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, having followed Percy's instruction to wait; as he would lead them to the dorms. The group wasn't so large as to make it impossible to hear the conversation going on at the front of the group. So, Xander sleepily listened in as the brainy girl from earlier interrogated the prefect.

"He's not serious, is he?"

"Quite serious, actually," replied Percy, "The third-floor corridor was rather disfigured at the end of last year; poor Professor Whedon, if you want the details, I suggest you look through the journal archives in the library. Anyone who knows anything about it, isn't saying, for good reason, and those who are saying, don't know anything. Now if everyone is ready please follow me, and don't worry if you don't remember the passageways, you'll learn."

Once the other students had cleared the hall, and only the first years and the fifth-year prefects for each house remained, there was a subtle nod between the prefects and then they were on their way.

He felt sluggish, and recognized the feeling as the results of the feast. He wasn't however so sleepy as to not notice that the people in the portraits along the corridors were animated in a way that paint on canvas shouldn't be, or that twice the group had gone through hidden passages, the first one behind a hanging tapestry of a very fat woman attempting to sing, and the second time after pushing open a sliding panel that slid shut as soon as the last member of the group was through.

At the very end of a long corridor hung a painting of a knighting ceremony with a young man kneeling before a lady in a flowing cream-white dress.

The Lady turned to face the group, her smile lit up her face when she saw Percy leading the group.

"Congratulations, Percy. I'm glad to see you were appointed as a prefect this year," the Lady said.

Percy blushed.

The young knight still kneeling turned towards the group, "I, of course agree with my lady. There was never a doubt in my mind. Welcome to my House, while I am but a simple knight, My Lady, has some knowledge of the more esoteric matters. Please feel free to stop and converse as needed." This he said to the group following Percy. Then the Lady was speaking again.

"I see the feast was well received as usual, and your charges are quickly tiring. So, we'll be quick with the explanation tonight, but we expect you all to stop by before the start of next week for us to elaborate."

Percy nodded and turned towards the group.

"Each house has their own security arrangements, ours is the portrait you see before you," said Percy.

"The password is updated as needed and posted on the board in the commons, while we could just let the portraits work by recognizing your face and robes, there are various magics that make this untenable. There are rules that you should all know concerning the privacy of the common room and the password, but as it is late, I will not keep you in going over them now. I will be meeting with each of you at the end of the week at which point, I expect you all to have familiarized yourself with them, they are posted with the current and next password in the common room."

Seeing that Percy had stopped talking, the Lady in the painting lifted an eyebrow and asked her question.

"Password?" said she.

"Rugiet Leonis," said Percy, the portrait rippled becoming transparent and revealing a tall archway and small chamber beyond.

"Follow Me," said Percy, stepping through the frame and into the stairwell beyond.

Xander was at the tail end of the group, he paused for a moment in front of the still empty portrait frame examining the space within and could just make out the filmy image of the Knight and Lady looking at him. He raised a hand and waved, and received a nod in return, and stepped through the frame into the tower on the other side.

Directly to the left of the portrait opening there was a short curving corridor that sloped upward to an archway leading into a large room, formed from what looked like a single continuous piece of smooth white stone, on the floor there was a rich red carpet with threads of gold woven in swooping lines that crossed the room. In the center of the room on a platform of white stone surrounded by a metal grate that went up to the ceiling where a fume hood flared out, a very comfortable fire crackled releasing heat into the stone and metal that was carried into the rest of the tower. Around the edge of the tower where one would expect walls, there were instead open archways showing the rest of the castle, and though Xander expected to feel the chill wind blowing through the openings in spite of the fire in the center of the room, the air was pleasantly warm and still.

He could see on the other side of the openings there was a balcony that surrounded the tower, and there was a slight shimmer to the air over each opening which he took to mean there was a barrier there preventing the temperature from dropping within the tower. At the far end of the room, a series of stone slabs were suspended in the air in pair of floating stairways leading up into the ceiling above them.

Scattered throughout the room were tables and squishy arm chairs, and couches, and hanging from the ceiling there were translucent red curtains draped suspended in such a way that a group could isolate a section of the common room to cut down on the sound from the rest of the room.

"Girls dorms are on the left; Boys dorms are on the right. I warn you all now, while you girls may have previously been able to access the boy's dorms, that changed last year, the recent project that remodeled and provided the castle with the many advancements in examples of the magical arts, is the cause of this update in policy."

"There are no exceptions. You will not even be able to attempt access, as the stairs have been crafted to be intangible to the unauthorized, I expect to see you all down here at Seven A.M. if you wish to be led back to the great hall for breakfast. Good night," said Percy, he then turned and proceeded up the stairs for the boy's dorms, disappearing into the ceiling.

Xander followed the group to the stairs coming fairly close to the openings to the outside, on a whim he poked a hand through the shimmering barrier and instantly felt the cool night air on the other side of the barrier.

"Cool," whispered Xander, to himself, as he stood there for a moment staring out at the sprawling castle grounds and forest beyond. He shook himself free of the scenic view and climbed the stairs, as he cleared the opening from the common room below he found a landing with a door with a small golden number one pressed into the wood. The door was opened to the first-year dormitory, as promised on the train, their luggage had been brought up and was lined up against the wall opposite the beds, which had thick, red, curtains.

The newness of the room kept the group awake for a time, taking in their new surroundings.

"Turns out, I'm a half-blood," said Dean Thomas into the quiet room. "My Dad, died shortly after I was born, and never told mum nothin. Mum was driving herself to distraction with worry every time something strange happened. The Hogwarts letter was a bit of a relief."

"Me dad's a wizard. Dad didn't tell mum he was magic 'til after I was born. Bit of a shock for her, I imagine it would've been worse if he hadn't been told until the letter showed up, might've thought I actually liked setting things on fire," said Seamus.

"I didn't show much accidental magic for the longest time, my gran brought me up and she's a witch," said Neville. "I wasn't even sure I would get a letter. Gran looked so relieved."

"What about you, Harry," said Ron.

"I prefer to be called, Xander, thanks," Xander said. "I've known about magic for a while but didn't know I was a wizard until the letter showed up. I just thought I had a knack for making other magic stuff go wrong."

The others laughed at the thought.

There was some muffled cursing from Ron's bed and the sound of the curtains being withdrawn so that Ron could place his pet in the cage he'd brought.

"What's the matter," Xander asked.

"Feckin Stoat, Scabby was chewing at my sheets," said Ron.

Xander yawned, and the next thing he knew, was his dreams; which were blissfully absent of foreshadowing.

— Xander Potter —

Xander rummaged through his trunk for the concealer he'd found that didn't itch and was just the right shade to cover the fading scar. He was carefully stacking items around him as he pulled them from the expanded space within the luggage, and had just liberated a wig of shoulder-length Weasley-red hair from within that caught his eye.

He discovered over the month at the Dursleys that no matter what he did to his hair, it remained the same length and refused to lay flat. And after the trip to Diagon, where he noticed the books with his current description in the bookstore; he decided to step up his game on being inconspicuous, and considering the surfeit of Weasley children running around, if last night was anything to go by, yet another red head would be par for the course. He grinned at the wig, and resumed his search.

A moment later he emerged from the first-year dorm bathroom bearing only the slightest resemblance to his appearance the night before.

His entrance to the common room was met with the occasional curious glance, but that was more curiosity aimed at the Weasley red hair, and questioning the idea that there was one more Weasley male at school than previously thought. The few that recognized him for who he was remembered his hair color the previous night and took the hint for what it was, and returned to what they were doing without saying anything.

Xander felt the desire to smirk at the students rubbernecking as the Gryffindor first years walked past, craning to get a look at Harry Potter and turning away disappointed when their eyes went right over him.

The most annoying, and equally fascinating part of the castle at the moment was the stairs, he listened in rapt fascination as the Prefect from the night before monologued on the trip back down to the Great Hall.

"... hundred and eighty-seven staircases at the last count, take great care to pay attention to your steps, there's a trick step coming up the thirteenth from the top, and twenty-third from the bottom up," Percy said demonstrating a step that disappeared when stepped on.

Xander jumped over the step with care.

"You may notice the door at the end of this set of stairs, the last recorded instance where it went somewhere was in the fourteenth century when it allowed access to the potions corridor. Currently it shows nothing but a solid wall behind it," Percy said pointing to a small door made of stone with a single brass ring.

At some point on the journey from the Gryffindor Tower, they were joined by the Ghost from the antechamber the night before, as Gideon glid through a door that required one to politely ask for the doorknob, just as Percy was opening it, much to the amusement of his audience, and his own muffled cursing.

"Gideon," sputtered Percy.

"Perseus!" Gideon said, from about waist height, his head firmly held in the crook of an arm. "Dear boy, you have my utmost and sincere apology for this gaff of etiquette. I remember just how uncomfortable it was to walk through ghosts such as I, when I was still alive, and let me tell you, it's equally unsettling for us ghosts on this side of the equation."

"Everyone, this is Gideon, the apprentice to the Gryffindor ghost, Sir Nicholas has expressed his eventual desire to shuffle off his ghostly existence, but only after he's had the chance to impart the secrets of Gryffindor to a suitable successor," said Percy. He gathered his control and finished asking for the door to open which he explained required him to take a calming breath until he could sound civil, and apologize to the door for his earlier language before it revealed the door knob.

"Showing them the ropes, eh?" said Gideon, "You wouldn't mind if I, tagged along, now would you?"

And, that was how the group gained a ghostly escort, just in time for a bundle of frilly robes from at least the fifteen-hundreds to fall from above.

"Peeves," Percy pinched the bridge of his nose, and spun around to face the assembled first years. "I'm surprised we didn't get a greeting from him last night, he usually makes a point of welcoming the first year Gryffindor's."

A low, wet sounding squelch followed, and a little man with, with mischievously bright eyes, and a wide grin dropped through a crack in the ceiling, bounced off the floor into a floating cross-legged position in the air.

"Peevsie, was having fun elsewhere," said Peeves. "The defense classroom needed Peevesies attention."

"Not going to ask," said Percy, slowly, and repeating the mantra several times until Peeves frowned.

"Red-headed Prefect isn't as much fun as the Red-headed twins, Peeves must not be trying hard enough to remove the stick he was told about," muttered Peeves in a way that was clearly heard by everyone there.

Gideon chuckled, "Now Peeves, there's no need to be vulgar. Should I inform the Baron that you're in need of your own radical extraction?"

There was a loud pop and a miniature cone of displaced air leading down the hall away from where the poltergeist had been, in the distance they heard a rattle from a suit of armor as the small man flew past.

"The resident poltergeist, you'll want to keep an eye on that one," said Percy. "So far, the only one he's been known to respect has been the resident ghost of Slytherin house, the Bloody Baron."

"Fortunate, or not, he remains as a mostly harmless outlet for the ambient magic of the castle. As was explained to me when I was in your shoes, Peeves defends his place here against other poltergeists and similar spirits, as long as he's here we don't have to worry about putting up with worse," said Gideon.

There was a distant rumbled like the grinding of stone, and Percy brought everyone to a stop.

"Sorry, everyone, you'll want to pay attention to that noise, it's an indication that the stairs have decided to change. If you catch this set of stairs earlier in the day it's a straight shot to the ground floor and the passage to the Great Hall. Since we started later than usual, that sound indicates that this stair should now exit onto the fourth-floor landing," said Percy.

Of course, this wasn't the case, though, as the students found when they reached the landing to find, Argus Filch, the caretaker currently in a heated discussion with Percy while a scrawny, dust-coloured creature with large eyes stretched at the caretaker's feet, Xander was fairly sure it was a cat, or at least in the same animal family.

"... Likely story Mr. Weasley," Filch was saying, but stopped as he noticed the crowd of students.

"Humph, well maybe this time," said Filch, shuffling off to disappear as quickly as he'd arrived.

"Mrs. Norris," Filch's voice sounded from off in the distance, and the thing Xander was fairly certain could be identified as a cat gave the group another disdainful glare before bounding off down the hall and disappearing as quickly as Filch.

Percy started walking down the hallway.

"Come along, this is the third-floor landing not the fourth, we should make haste to the next set of stairs. Please do not wander off," said Percy.

— Xander Potter —

With the schedules in hand and breakfast eaten, there was the start of the classes. While Xander knew that there was more to magic than saying fancy words and waving a stick; his classes in magic that first week drove the point home. From the first Herbology class with Professor Sprout.

The lecture portion of the herbology lesson was presented in the largest of the Hogwarts greenhouses on the grounds, and stepping into the building was like being transported miles away into a rainforest, the space within the building had been expanded far beyond the norm. Luckily for the students, the lecture area was just inside the main entrance under a metal pavilion coated with vines. There were wrought iron, wire-framed chairs under the pavilion, behind wooden tables that each held clay pots and dirt.

As wild as the growth was outside the little pavilion, the space under it was clear of vegetation. Xander imagined there must've been some sort of magic placed on the structure to prevent it from being overgrown.

"It has fallen upon my class to relay information that you will find important in other subjects," said Professor Sprout. "In here, you will learn to treat every plant with respect. From the most mundane flower, to my most dangerous tentacula."

There was some snickering from the direction of a dark-haired boy on the far side of the greenhouse.

"Mister Zabini, I take it you wish to volunteer your services this evening reviewing the basic safety lessons?" said Professor Sprout.

"No, professor," said Blaise Zabini.

"That wasn't a request, Mister Zabini. I only give one warning. Herbology is as dangerous a subject as any other taught at this school, and you will respect that or find yourself short one of the primary subjects required to graduate," said Professor Sprout. "Now then, to start with we will first examine the properties of the Elysian Asphodel. Who can tell me one of the properties of the asphodel."

And then of course, there was Astronomy. On Wednesday evenings, Xander discovered the joys of a midnight atop the Astronomy Tower, one of the few nights for his age group that curfew was waived in favor of the class that required the night sky for effective use of their telescopes, unless they wanted to study the sun. Midnight as was explained, was the optimal time for lessons, as the light pollution from the castle would be non-existent with the majority of the castle asleep.

There must've been some form of enchantment on the deceptively simple brass telescopes, as Xander had at first thought they would be fairly primitive compared to the newer reflecting models available. Astronomy class was held atop the aptly named astronomy tower. And despite the chill of autumn in the Scottish highland, the tower was surprisingly comfortable.

There were twenty-three pillars supporting a massive dome, surrounded by a balcony that extended out from the pillars a good five feet, like the Gryffindor common room, Xander could see the shimmer of the barrier keeping the cold wind out of the tower.

There was a massive telescope mounted on an even larger apparatus of gears allowing for precise control over every movement the telescope made. And instead of the tiny little focus for viewing, there was a glass enchanted to display a larger image of what the telescope was pointed at. Currently it focused on the massive red storm in Jupiter's atmosphere.

"Welcome to astronomy, I am Professor Aurora Sinistra," said the professor. "To assuage your fears as to the usefulness of my subject, I can assure you there is an equally great magic in the stars as what is taught in other classes. From the relatively close moon, to the farthest galaxy, the study of the stars affects more than just such wooly subjects as divination. It is also of great import in the production of potions and herbology. Though you will find it has less of an impact on newer subjects such as transfiguration and charms," the professor ushered them into the room.

"As some of you may already be aware, either by luck of having a parent or older sibling suitably interested in the topic, or having cracked open your texts before my first lesson," here she raised an eyebrow in the direction of the Ravenclaw students, "the eye of Jupiter is a storm formed in the upper atmosphere of the fifth planet in our solar system, what won't be known for those of you without the luck to have magical astronomers in your family is that the eye is the result of an ongoing experiment, being conducted by the department of mysteries since the late fourteenth century."

"They will of course deny the existence of any such experiment should you ask, quite embarrassing to their record of nondisclosure you see."

"Of particular note for us though, is when we review more than just the skies, such as the census record showing the uptick in magical births that followed the appearance. This should be, at least enough of a correlation, to provide you with some idea, as to how astronomy can affect you," finished Professor Sinistra.

This was all news to Xander, but around him he could see his fellow classmates ran the gamut of expressions from bored in the case of the Ravenclaws, to incredulous in the case of a few he pegged as purebloods, to those that matched his own surprise at the revelation.

Standing next to the large telescope now, the professor had a smug expression on her face.

"Now, excluding the Ravenclaws, who can name one of the classical Jovian moons?"

Hermione raised a hand.

"Miss?" Professor Sinistra pointed to the frantically waving girl in the middle of the group of students.

"Granger, Hermione Granger, Professor, and the Jovian moons, or the moons of Jupiter, are: Europa, Io, Ganymede..."

The professor quickly raised a hand to forestall the eager student, "Thank you, Miss Granger, five points to Gryffindor for a correct answer, and two points from for taking the chance to name two of the moons away from your fellow students."

The girl reddened in embarrassment from the correction, gentle though it was.

"Now, if I remember correctly the last count the muggles had, was somewhere around seventeen* moons, with the latest in magical imaging, we know there are actually seventy-one moons, those of you planning on taking arithmancy in your third year will look back on this and remember that number," said Professor Sinistra. Then she enlarged the projection of the gas giant until it reached the dome above, and with another flick of her wand, three of the moons now visible had little tags showing their names. Around the planet more tags appeared over the remaining fourteen moons.

Xander notice Hermione's frown at the larger number of moons. He hadn't been paying attention to the answers given by other students, and so didn't notice as the teacher called his name the first time.

"Mister Potter," Professor Sinistra sent a light stinging hex at his hand, and he almost instinctively dodged it, before looking up at the teacher.

"Hmm?"

"Can you name one of the remaining moons, Mister Potter?" Sinistra raised an eyebrow.

Xander looked up at the projected image with dismay at all the little filled in names, out of the seventeen there were only seven left, and the four he knew for sure were already taken.

"It's alright if you don't recognize any more of them, Mister Potter," Professor Sinistra sounded disappointed.

"Professor, I don't see Metis named yet," Xander said hoping he'd remembered the name right.

The professor's glare relented as she smiled at him and pointed a wand at the label to reveal the named moon.

"Well done, Mister Potter," she said. "Five points to Gryffindor."

He looked back over to Hermione, and she noticed his gaze giving him a timid, yet hopeful smile.

— Xander Potter —

Charms, was, in a word, thrilling. Professor Flitwick, the teacher, was a relatively short wizard, with a balding head and a wispy mustache. His entrance to the class involved flying into the room on some sort of levitating boots only to crash into a bookshelf, and end up on top of a pile of books.

Xander was one of the few students near the front of the room and pulled Neville with him when he rushed over to help the professor up.

"Are you alright, Professor?" Neville said.

"I'm okay, I'm okay," Professor Flitwick repeated as he assisted the boys with pulling him off the stack and then brushed himself off. He gave a short chuckle and waved his wand, repairing any potential damage to the books from his little flying accident and then causing them to reshelf themselves.

"Ah, Gryffindor's, wonderful save there, have three points each for jumping to the assistance of a downed professor," Flitwick said with a wink.

Transfiguration was a more, wooly subject than charms. Xander recalled her from the sorting night, Professor McGonagall made him think of the witch Morwen from the Enchanted Forest Chronicles. In fact, hanging front and center above the chalkboard was a sign that read, "None of this nonsense, please."

"Magic is a complex and dangerous thing, and, I feel safe in saying, that there is no subject at Hogwarts, that is more dangerous than the subject of Transfiguration," she said. "In this class we deal with twisting the nature of reality more so than any other," with a wave of her wand, her desk and everything on it twisted morphing into a sleeping boar, and back again. "You will respect the dangers inherent in transfiguration in my class, or you will leave, and find yourself without my tuition. You have been warned."

With a wave of her wand, the chalk dust swirled up from the tray at the bottom of the board and affixed itself into several bullet points describing a complex equation and observations. "Copy this equation down, now, in fact inscribe it onto the very front of your note binder, you should see this every day you attend my class."

"Now," she said, "repeat this next sentence after me. There is no such thing as a temporary transfiguration." She paused while the statement sunk in on the class. "When you change the nature of an object via transfiguration, it becomes in all senses that object, though we do have spells that can determine the original object, and even revert a transfigured object to a prior state."

Xander's hand was cramping by the end of the lecture with all the pieces of information that had been presented as absolutely vital to understanding the process of transfiguration, that he almost sighed with relief when McGonagall announced that she believed they had time to attempt their first bit of magic in her class.

By the end of the lesson, he'd managed to ignite a portion of the desk which was quickly doused by the professor, turn portions of the matchstick into what looked like green plastic, and sharpen one end into a pointy stake. Only Hermione had any greater luck than he, and the professor used hers as an example, while frowning at his own, this was of course followed by a quirked eyebrow at his Weasley red hair.

"Mister Potter, please stay a moment," said the professor as the rest of the class filed out.

"Yes, professor," said Xander continuing to pack his things but remaining seated. Once the room had emptied she gave his wig a pointed look and said.

"Explain."

Xander reached up and lifted the wig to reveal his naturally messy black hair underneath.

The professor raised an eyebrow, but seemed to be relieved. "For a moment, Xander, I had worried that you had attempted some form of self-transfiguration. As you did not appear to be in distress, I assumed it wasn't life-threatening. Though I would still like to know why you decided on this particular method of concealment."

Xander shrugged. "What's one more Weasley in the crowd, professor. I'm a person not a hunk of meat. I'd prefer to not be stared at for something I don't even remember, and I like to think the background is better than the spotlight."

"You, are nothing like your father," said Professor McGonagall, dryly.

The statement hit Xander like a ton of bricks for a moment, he'd forgotten she didn't mean his father, but rather Harry's father. But still the words felt like a release of sorts.

"Thank you, Professor," Xander said.

"You're welcome, Mister Potter, and if you ever want to talk, call for Blocky, and ask him to see if I'm available for a meeting," said the transfiguration professor. "While I am a very busy person, and may not be immediately accessible, I can always make the time when requested for my lions."

— Xander Potter —

It should come as no surprise, given Xander's background, that out of all the other classes, Defense would be the one class he was looking forward to the most. Of course, coming from the perspective of one who faced the dark of Sunnydale on an almost nightly basis since having his eyes opened to it. Quirrell's lesson turned out to be something of a letdown. At first, the strong aroma of garlic lingering in the classroom, which the local grapevine semi-reliably informed him was a holdover from the professor's encounter with a Romanian Vampire, gave him some confidence that the subject would be just the ticket; returning him to the familiar territory he'd left behind that Halloween in Sunnydale. For all the stories floating around concerning the professor's exploits including the one about professor's authentic headwear, the professor himself was remarkably close-lipped.

Xander to his chagrin, was not in fact, miles ahead of the class in defense. There were all sorts of concerns that mages in this world had to deal with that he'd not seen mention of in Giles' books. There was so much to learn that he was deeply missing Willow's study guides, if not her pushing him to achieve above his minimal effort standards.

— Xander Potter —

Xander, had a love hate relationship with the next class, History of Magic. The subject itself held a fascinating glimpse into the wizarding world, which he felt he was playing extreme catch-up on. But the teacher, well, there were horror stories. Xander wouldn't have considered himself to be a student of history, or have any great love for the topic in general. On one hand he was no stranger to the dry nature of the subject material magic or no, on the other hand though, he recalled a saying, "those who don't learn from history are doomed to repeat it."

The stories took two forms, the first told of the former teacher of the subject, a ghost, very old, that apparently had fallen asleep one evening, only to awake the next morning to teach and leave their body behind. There had been some clause in the contract unknown until shortly after the end of the most recent conflict, which left the subject bereft a teacher. The second story, concerned the new professor for History of Magic, one Professor Snape, a Slytherin Alumni.

Between one school year, and the next, the story went, the class had been transformed from a slacker's paradise class, where it was not uncommon to find sleeping students, into the single most despised course in the curriculum. For a full two hours every Thursday evening, students were subjected to the fully immersive experience of History with Snape.

History lessons took place deep within one of the dungeons, the innovations seen higher in the castle hadn't reached the demesne of their Professor, the stone here appeared to be of an older, coarser nature than the smooth walls above, flickering torches guttered in an unfelt wind casting shadows that played with the imagination.

Professor Snape, like previous teachers started with roll. Xander was more than a little annoyed when the professor chose to single him out.

"And, yes," paused Snape, "Harry Potter. Our new—celebrity."

Xander raised a hand to indicate his presence, which the professor noted, though he looked again at the red-haired student sitting before him for a long moment. If the eyes are the windows to the soul, then Professor Snape's, soul was on the same level as a black hole. There was none of the warmth, held by the other staff. Xander was left with the impression of being left outside on a cold, dark, night with the knowledge that tomorrow the sun wouldn't rise. Xander clenched a fist at the whispers that started up, only to be silenced by a glare from the Professor as he resumed roll call without further comment.

"The History of Magic is a rich and storied subject," he began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but that whisper seemed to echo throughout the room, pulling everyone's attention to the man. "As this class involves the stories of many long dead witches and wizards, I don't expect you will believe it has any valid relevance or effect in your lives today. I can teach you of the struggles of Merlin; the pitfalls of Morgana; and perhaps even something more recent like the atrocities of Grindelwald's Greater Good philosophy. Assuming of course that you aren't as thick skulled as the Neanderthals I usually have to teach."

The low sound of cloth rustling as the class squirmed uncomfortably was heard throughout the room, and glances were traded, eyebrows raised, and Hermione Granger inched forward in her seat and looked desperate to prove she wasn't a member of the Neanderthal family.

The professor looked around the room, eyes falling on Xander and his wig of red hair, Snape frowned tearing his gaze away from Xander's, and something told him, that if he were to ever attend this class without his wig, things would not go well for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Footnote for astronomy: *current count is closer to 69, with 50 something named and the rest being in distinct enough orbits to count as moons but unnamed as yet, though the figure of 17 is correct for 1991.


End file.
